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Rick Brant Science Adventure Mystery series by John Blaine #9 Stairway to Danger.
Citation preview
The RICK BRANT SCIENCE-ADVENTURE Stories BY JOHN BLAINE
The Rocket’s Shadow The Lost City
Sea Gold 100 Fathoms Under
The Whispering Box Mystery The Phantom Shark
Smugglers’ Reef The Caves of Fear
Stairway to Danger The Golden Skull
The Wailing Octopus The Electronic Mind Reader
The Scarlet Lake Mystery The Pirates of Shan
The Blue Ghost Mystery The Egyptian Cat Mystery
The Flaming Mountain The Flying Stingaree
The Ruby Ray Mystery The Veiled Raiders
Rocket Jumper The Deadly Dutchman
Danger Below! The Magic Talisman
A RICK BRANT SCIENCE-ADVENTURE STORY
STAIRWAY TO DANGER
BY JOHN BLAINE
GROSSET & DUNLAP PUBLISHERS NEW YORK, N. Y.
Contents
CHAPTER PAGE
I THE THOUGHTFUL ROBOT 1
II THE SEARCH 13
III STRANGE TRACKS 27
IV THE AMUSEMENT PARK 38
V A PROBLEM IN CYBERNETICS 50
VI WILL-O’-THE-WISP 60
VII LOCKED CONTROLS! 68
VIII FIFTY FRANTIC SECONDS 79
IX A BETTER RATTRAP 89
X THE MISSING CARETAKER 100
XI SHOTS IN THE DARK 111
XII LEFTY THE GONIF 121
XIII THE TRACTOSAUR 131
XIV A FINE NIGHT FOR MURDER 145
XV STAIRWAY TO DANGER 155
XVI FOR WANT OF A NICKEL 163
XVII TRAP IN THE SKY 172
XVIII PROOF OF THE PUDDING! 178
XIX STRADE IMITATES A BIRD 186
XX FIND MIKE CURTIS! 193
XXI SOAPY STRADE’S SECRET 206
1
CHAPTER I
The Thoughtful Robot
“It‟s weird,” Rick Brant said. “It‟s uncanny.” He
perched on the edge of his father‟s desk and stared at the
famous scientist. “It sounds like science-fiction, Dad.
Will it really work?”
Hartson Brant smiled. “It isn‟t like you to doubt a
scientific probability, Rick. If we weren‟t sure it would
work, we wouldn‟t be putting so much time and money
into the project.”
Except for the gray in the scientist‟s hair, he might
have been Rick‟s elder brother. Both were lean and
long-legged. Both had brown eyes and light-brown hair.
Their mannerisms were the same and they even dressed
somewhat alike, preferring slacks and open shirts to
more formal attire.
Don Scott, called Scotty, shook his head at the elder
Brant‟s amused grin. “I‟m like Rick,” he said. “I don‟t
doubt the scientific probability of this project, but the
2
idea of a thinking robot is kind of hard to swallow. All I
hope is that this robot doesn‟t have a wrong sense of
humor. Imagine a machine pulling practical jokes!”
Hartson Brant chuckled. “Even that isn‟t too
farfetched, Scotty. Wait until you get better acquainted
with Parnell Winston. His sense of humor runs to
practical jokes, and there‟s no telling what he might
build into the machine.”
“He must be good,” Rick said.
“He‟s very good indeed, Son. He‟s as close to a
genius as we have on the staff.”
Rick‟s eyebrows went up. That was high tribute,
because the Spindrift Scientific Foundation staff, which
his father headed, had more than its share of brains.
Leading scientists from all over the world wrote or came
to the little island off the New Jersey coast for aid or
advice. More than once, the United States Government
had looked to Spindrift for help.
In fact, Rick, Scotty, and Professor Hobart Zircon had
just returned from the Far East where they aided the
government in locating the source of an Asiatic supply
of heavy water. They had almost lost their lives in the
fabulous Caves of Fear, near the Chinese-Tibetan
border, in tracking down what might have been a
menace to the security of the United States.
During their absence, three new members had been
added to the Spindrift staff, including Dr. Parnell
Winston, a cyberneticist. Cybernetics, Rick knew, had
something to do with the relationship between the
human mind and machines. The “giant brains,” the
3
electronic computers, were the results of the new
science. Dr. Winston, however, had immediately started
on a different kind of problem. He had undertaken to
build a machine capable of thinking.
“I‟m a little confused,” Rick admitted. “Barby told us;
something about the project, but I can‟t believe she had
it straight.” Barbara Brant, his pretty sister, had been
more excited about the new project than about the trip
from which they had returned only the day before.
“That‟s right,” Scotty said. “She told us the machine
would be eight feet tall, have six arms, and sense enough
to make cakes, give permanent waves, and repair
television sets, all at once.”
Hartson Brant chuckled. “That‟s Parnell Winston for
you. He teases Barby almost as much as you do.
Seriously, this robot will have limited use. If you can
visualize an armor-plated bulldozer—that will give you
a good idea.”
Rick tried to picture it. “You mean a regular
bulldozer? A tractor with a big blade for pushing
things?”
“Regular in two ways,” the scientist said. “It will have
a bulldozer blade, and caterpillar treads like a tank. But
it will look more like a huge turtle than a bulldozer.”
“Why a bulldozer?” Rick asked. “Couldn‟t you think
of something more human for our first real robot?”
“We didn‟t select the design,” Hartson Brant
explained. “It was selected for us by the Atomic Energy
Commission and the Department of Defense. That‟s
secret, by the way. Our connection with them is not to be
4
discussed. AEC wants the machine to help dispose of
radioactive wastes. The Department of Defense wants it
for obvious reasons. You can see how valuable an
armored machine capable of thinking for itself could be
to the Army or Marines.”
Scotty sat forward on the edge of his chair. “It‟s
terrific!” he exclaimed. “You could tell the bulldozer to
go cover up an enemy pillbox with dirt, and never risk a
man!”
“Yes,” Rick said. “But I still don‟t get this part about
how it thinks. Unless you mean that it will have a
memory, and learn from experience.”
Hartson Brant nodded. “That‟s exactly right, Rick. It
will not be capable of really creative thought. But it will
be able to remember, and to interpret its memories.”
Rick kept abreast of new developments by reading all
the scientific journals to which the staff subscribed, and
he knew that an English scientist, named Walter, had
created machines that could go almost that far. Dr.
Walter had named his latest one machina docilis,
because it was capable of learning. This Spindrift
machine evidently was another step along the same line.
Scotty scratched his head. “How about an example,
Dad?”
The scientist tamped tobacco into his pipe. “All right,
Scotty. Take an enemy pillbox as an example. Imagine it
with concrete tank pillars in front of it. You know the
kind I mean. They‟re like huge concrete teeth. We would
merely instruct the tank buster—our robot—to destroy
the pillbox, and we would give it compass directions.
5
The machine would advance until it struck the concrete
pillars. It would try to knock them down. If it failed, it
probably would go completely around the pillbox
looking for a weak point. If it found no weak point, it
probably would back off and start shoving dirt until it
buried the concrete pillars and then it would roll right
over them. It would then try to crush the pillbox. If it
failed, it probably would just bury the thing by shoving
dirt.”
“You keep saying „probably,‟ ” Rick pointed out.
“Don‟t you know?”
“Not exactly. The machine would try everything
within its capabilities, remembering each failure and
each weakness. It would keep trying until it succeeded,
or failed altogether.”
Scotty stood up. “I quit,” he said. “This is too much.
I‟m a simple soul, and such things are not for the likes of
me. Next thing you know we‟ll have pixies or
leprechauns running around the lab.”
Rick grinned in sympathy. He knew how Scotty felt,
because he had the same feeling himself. It was
uncanny. “Where do we fit in, Dad?” he asked.
“Dr. Winston has assignments for you,” Hartson
Brant said. “Plan to start in the morning, as early as
possible. We‟re rushing to meet a deadline the
Department of Defense has given us, and you may find
yourselves working nights. You can fly to work, Rick. I
checked the field bordering the amusement park. There‟s
room enough, although the grass is a little long.”
The robot project was not on Spindrift Island, but at a
6
place down the coast. When finished, the machine would
weigh several tons, and the scientists had decided it
would be easier to travel to work than to face the
engineering problem of getting it to the mainland. Dr.
Winston had found a place below the town of Seaford, a
building owned by a small college. The building was
next to Seaside Playland, an amusement park that had
gone out of business about two years before.
Hartson Brant himself was not taking part in the
project. He was working with Shannon and Briotti, two
of the new scientists, on a forthcoming expedition.
Zircon was starting work on the same expedition. Julius
Weiss, Spindrift‟s brilliant mathematician, was working
with Dr. Winston.
“Come on, Rick,” Scotty said. “Let‟s get back down
to earth. I‟m in need of something simple but sustaining.
Like doughnuts. With milk.”
The boys left the scientist to his work and walked to
the kitchen where Mrs. Brant was seated at the kitchen
table, going over her accounts.
Rick gave her a bear hug. “How‟s the doughnut
situation?”
“Good,” Mrs. Brant replied, smiling. “Unless Barby
has had more than her share.”
Scotty was already investigating the doughnut jar.
“Where is she, Mom?”
“In Whiteside. Jerry Webster is covering a swimming
meet at the Scout camp and she went along with him.”
Jerry Webster, reporter for the Whiteside Morning
Record, was an old friend.
7
“Hope she took a bathing suit along,” Rick said,
pouring a tall glass of cold milk. “Some of the Scouts
are good, but I‟ll put my money on Barby. She could be
a champion, if she‟d only practice.”
Barby was a year younger than Rick, and although
they had their minor battles as brother and sister often
do, he was very proud of her—even though it was a
pride he didn‟t often express.
In the same way, he was proud of Scotty. The ex-
Marine, an orphan, had been a member of the Spindrift
family since the moon rocket experiment. The two boys
had become closer than brothers, and they had shared
danger and fun in equal proportions. Both of them were
on the pay roll of the Spindrift Foundation as junior
technicians.
They finished their milk and doughnuts and wandered
from the kitchen door to the orchard. Beyond the
orchard, on the seaward side of the island was a grassy
stretch which Rick used as an airfield. His small plane
was moored under the trees. On the inland edge of the
orchard were new cottages, built to house the new staff
members and their families. Rick had had some
misgivings when his father decided to enlarge the staff,
but after meeting the new people, he was satisfied that
the increase was a good thing. They were all very
congenial.
On the southeast tip of the island were the low, gray-
stone laboratory buildings. Rick led the way toward
them, curious about the work in progress. He stopped
and examined the Cub. He hadn‟t flown it since leaving
8
for Hong Kong.
“Let‟s go for a hop,” Scotty suggested.
Rick shook his head. “I‟d rather see what‟s happening
in the lab. But we might turn the engine over and see if it
still runs.”
“Okay,” Scotty agreed. He checked the gas gauge.
“Plenty of fuel. Get in. I‟ll crank the prop.”
Rick slid into the pilot‟s seat and moved the wheel-
type control column. The controls responded. He
checked the switch and called, “Switch off.”
“Switch off,” Scotty repeated. He pulled the propeller
through a few times to prime the cylinders, then called,
“Switch on.”
“Switch on,” Rick repeated. He advanced the throttle
and snapped on the switch. Scotty pulled the propeller
back on compression. The engine coughed. Scotty tried
again, and this time the engine caught. Rick let it warm,
watching his instrument panel carefully and holding fast
on the brakes. When he was satisfied that everything
was in perfect order, he cut the engine and got out.
“Runs like a watch,” he said with satisfaction. “Now
let‟s see what‟s happening at the lab.”
The laboratory buildings had been built originally by
the government, then purchased by the Spindrift
Foundation with the cash prize resulting from the moon
rocket. Since then the Spindrift group had added
equipment until the laboratories compared favorably
with any in the country. The Spindrift portion of a
treasure found while exploring the bottom of the Pacific
had permitted the purchase of new equipment and the
9
salaries of three new staff members.
As the boys walked into the main room, two men
looked up.
Dr. Howard Shannon was very tall and very thin. He
wore glasses so thick they magnified his eyes—but they
were eyes with a twinkle in them and their color was a
brilliant blue. His thinning hair was almost white. Rick‟s
first impression had been that of a bookworm, but then
he had noticed Dr. Shannon‟s big, powerful hands. He
had noticed also that the scientist‟s face was weathered
from years in the sun and wind, and he suspected that
Howard Shannon probably was as good a trail
companion as Weiss or Zircon.
Dr. Anthony Briotti was surprisingly young to be a
famous archeologist. He was of medium height, well-
knit, with black hair and a deeply tanned complexion.
He had a pleasant grin that showed white, even teeth.
Both boys had liked him at once. He was more like
someone of their own age than a senior scientist. He was
the only bachelor among the new staff members. It had
never occurred to either Rick or Scotty to call the other
scientists anything but “Doctor” or “Professor.” But
within a few moments after meeting, they had, quite
naturally, started calling Dr. Briotti “Tony.”
Dr. Shannon greeted them. “Good afternoon. Both
rested from your trip, I hope?”
“Sure they are,” Tony Briotti said. “I can tell by
looking at ‟em. And you can bet curiosity brought them
in here. I‟m surprised they haven‟t shown up sooner,
especially when we‟re planning a new trip.”
10
“We had to get a little sleep,” Rick protested. “But
you‟re right. We‟re curious. What‟s going on?”
“A joint project,” Shannon said. “Usually, as a
naturalist, I have rather special interests, but Dr. Briotti
has come up with a plan that, as he says, is right down
my alley.”
Tony smiled. “In other words, he thinks some very
interesting new bugs are located near a place where I
hope to find some fine artifacts. Seriously, I‟m in hopes
of tracking down the race of people that built the temple
of Alta-Yuan, which you so kindly dug up for me.”
The search for the lost temple, drowned ages ago in
the Pacific, had taken the Spindrift group to Kwangara
Island a short time before.
“It will be a good trick if you can do it,” Scotty said.
“They vanished centuries ago.”
“Consider me a kind of detective,” Tony replied. “I‟m
a Bureau of Missing Persons that works only on cases a
thousand years old. I‟ve got a good clue. Hope it works
out.”
“What do you hope to find, Dr. Shannon?” Rick
asked.
The tall scientist polished his thick glasses. “I really
have little hope, but there is a possibility that I may
succeed in finding the rarest of all beetles, scarabaeus
planderus, an ancient relative of the Egyptian scarab. If I
find the beetle in the same area where Briotti uncovers
his lost people, it may also show that they came
originally from the Near East.”
Rick hid a grin. The Spindrift scientists had gone on
11
expeditions for many things, but going after anything so
unromantic as a beetle was a new twist.
“Isn‟t there something else you‟ll be hunting?” he
asked.
“Indeed there is!” Dr. Shannon exclaimed. “The
beetle would be the prize, but I also hope to find a few
varieties of the sensitive mimosa. There may possibly be
a chance to collect a few cloud rats, and if there is time
for side trips I should like very much to pick up a slow
loris.”
Scotty looked incredulous. “You‟re making up those
names,” he accused.
Shannon peered at him over the tops of his glasses.
“Eh? Making them up? No, indeed!”
Tony Briotti laughed heartily. “There really are such
critters,” he assured them. “Only a naturalist like
Howard would know about them, or get excited about
them, but they do exist.”
Dr. Shannon smiled. “Thank you, Anthony. I
acknowledge your support.” To the boys, he added, “We
will make a first-class team, Dr. Briotti and I. We have
interests in common. Beetles, for example. We both like
beetles. But where I prefer to take them alive, as
specimens, Anthony prefers them mummified and at
least ten centuries old.”
Rick didn‟t quite know what to make of the
conversation for a moment, then he saw that this was Dr.
Shannon‟s dry way of making a joke. He started to ask
the location of the new expedition when the phone rang.
There was a streak of clairvoyance in Rick. He
12
explained it by saying he had hunches, but it was there.
He knew the moment the phone rang that it was for him,
and that it meant disaster. He was leaping for the phone
even as Briotti answered, then handed the instrument to
him.
Rick took it, his heart beating rapidly. “Yes?”
“Better come at once, Rick,” Hartson Brant said, and
his voice was shaking. “We‟ve just had a call from
Captain Douglas of the State Police. Jerry and Barby are
in the hospital. They‟ve been struck by a hit-and-run
driver!”
13
CHAPTER II
The Search
Rick dashed into the front door of the big house, Scotty
close behind him. Hartson Brant beckoned from the
library. His usually tanned face was white.
“It‟s not serious,” he said quickly. “Barby is being X-
rayed right now. At worst, it will be only a broken bone,
but it probably will turn out to be nothing more than a
badly twisted ankle. Jerry was bruised, but he‟s all
right.”
Rick‟s heart went out of his throat.
“Captain Douglas is on the phone,” the scientist
continued. “He wants to speak to you.”
Rick‟s hand shook a little as he picked up the phone.
“This is Rick, Captain.”
The State Police officer said, “I need you, Rick. I
want to get that hit-and-run car that almost got Barby
and Jerry, but most of my men are tied up now helping
the New York police look for Soapy Strade. He escaped
14
from prison last night. I want you to get in your plane
and start searching toward the south for the hit-and-run
car. Cover the area from Whiteside to the junction of the
Shore Road and Route 1. Gus is already in the air. He‟s
covering the area between Whiteside and Newark. What
men I can spare from the New York job are going to
cover the roads north of Whiteside.”
“What do I look for?” Rick asked.
“A maroon sedan.” Captain Douglas named the make,
and gave Rick the license number. “Take a sack and
some weights with you, and paper and pencil. You know
where the police stations are in Seaford and Jerrick‟s
Crossing. If you pick up the car, drop a note giving
direction and road. I‟m phoning the police in those
towns to watch for you. Once you‟ve dropped the note,
pick up the car again and keep following it until you see
a police car stop it. Got it?”
“Got it,” Rick returned swiftly. “I‟m on my way.”
“Step on it. The sedan has a fifteen-minute start. And
don‟t worry about Barby and Jerry. They‟re all right. I‟m
sorry this had to happen when most of my men are tied
up hunting Strade, but I‟m betting on you to find that
hit-and-run car.”
Rick hung up, and repeated the conversation to his
father and Scotty as he hurriedly collected paper, pencil,
and a pair of lead paperweights from his father‟s desk.
Then he rushed to the kitchen, rummaged in a drawer,
and found a sugar sack. His mother was already on her
way to Whiteside in one of the motorboats.
“I‟m going with you,” Hartson Brant said as Rick
15
returned. “You can drop me at the airport and I‟ll join
Mother and Barby at the hospital.”
Rick‟s plane was only a two-seater, but he didn‟t say
anything. The extra load wouldn‟t put the plane beyond
the safety limits and this was an emergency. The three of
them ran from the house to where the plane was staked
down. Rick and the scientist got in while Scotty untied
the plane, pulled the chocks from in front of the wheels,
and then spun the prop. The engine caught and Scotty
got in, taking a seat on Hartson Brant‟s lap.
Rick adjusted his trim tabs for the heavy load, then
taxied to the very end of the strip. Holding fast on the
brakes, he revved up the engine until it howled. Then he
released the brakes and the plane rolled forward.
The tail came up sluggishly. Rick held the Cub on the
ground as long as he dared, then slowly pulled back on
the wheel. The plane left the ground with only a few feet
of runway to spare.
“Made it,” Scotty said quietly. “Am I too heavy,
Dad?”
The scientist grunted. “You‟re about a hundred and
fifty pounds too heavy for comfortable lap sitting,
Scotty. But I can stand it if you can.”
Rick adjusted his trim tabs a little more, then asked,
“Dad, who is Soapy Strade? Captain Douglas didn‟t
explain. I guess he thought I knew, but I don‟t.”
Hartson Brant got a little more comfortable. “He‟s a
gang leader, Rick. He had one of the biggest crime rings
in the East until he made the mistake of kidnapping a
wealthy banker. That made it possible for the FBI to take
16
action. He drew a twenty-year sentence.”
“I don‟t remember reading about it,” Scotty said.
“It happened while we were in the western Pacific,”
Hartson Brant explained. “I didn‟t know about it, either,
until the news broke last night that he had escaped.
Both the New York and New Jersey police are
hunting him. I‟m not surprised Captain Douglas hasn‟t
many men to help us.”
Whiteside was already in view. Rick hadn‟t bothered
climbing for altitude, and he swept over the town at little
more than five hundred feet. He picked up the windsock
at the Whiteside airport, banked into the wind, and cut
the throttle. In a few moments they were on the ground.
Rick taxied at high speed to the hangar and the scientist
got out. The boys waved good-bye and Rick yelled,
“Tell Barby we‟ll catch that car.”
Scotty added, “And tell her we‟ll see her tonight,
either at the hospital or home.”
Rick poured throttle to the little plane and took off
crosswind. He estimated quickly that the hit-and-run car
couldn‟t get out of the area in less than thirty minutes,
no matter how fast it traveled. That gave him about ten
minutes leeway—just enough to reach the junction of
the Shore Road and Route 1.
The highway curved along the coast, but Rick flew in
a straight line. “We‟ll get to the junction, then work back
up,” he told Scotty. “Better get the binoculars out of the
back.”
“Got ‟em,” Scotty said. He held up the glasses.
Rick climbed to about twenty-five hundred feet. He
17
had the Cub wide open. Time enough to throttle down to
cruising speed once they reached the junction. His
mouth was set in a straight line. If the maroon sedan was
in the area, he would find it. The fact that Barby and
Jerry were not seriously injured had nothing to do with
his intentions. He was going to get that sedan, anyway.
Nobody could put his sister in danger and get away with
it!
Scotty looked at him. “Relax, pal. We may be flying
for a couple of hours. You can‟t make this airplane go
any faster by sitting there like a ramrod.”
Rick hadn‟t realized he was so tense. He sat back in
the seat a little, then worked the tabs until the plane was
perfectly balanced and able to fly itself. The tabs were
small movable pieces on the control surfaces that
enabled the pilot to trim the plane to match weight
distribution.
Far to the left was the Atlantic Ocean. Inland, curving
to follow the coast line, was the Shore Road. The plane
was moving slowly away from the road, cutting across a
wide swing it made toward the town of Seaford.
Rick didn‟t need a map. He knew the area as well as
he knew Spindrift Island. The Shore Road met main
U.S. Highway 1 just below the town of Jerrick‟s
Crossing. From the junction he intended to work north
along the shore. There were only two roads that turned
off the Shore Road between the junction and Whiteside.
One of them petered out into a wood road. The other
curved into a small village and then joined the Shore
Road again.
18
Scotty motioned to the right. The main highway was
in sight. “We‟ll be there in a couple of minutes,” he said.
He held up the binoculars and looked ahead through the
Plexiglas windshield. After a moment he added,
“Coming up. Want to lose a little altitude?”
“Good idea,” Rick agreed.
He put the Cub into a shallow dive, letting it pick up
speed as they went. Presently the intersection was below
them. Cars could be easily identified by color, although
not by make. Rick banked sharply, wrapping the Cub up
in a tight circle. Both he and Scotty watched carefully,
but no maroon cars were in sight.
“The car couldn‟t have gotten here so soon,” Scotty
said. “Let‟s head north up the Shore Road.”
Rick looked at his friend, sensing something in the
other boy‟s voice. No doubt of it, Scotty was controlling
deep anger. Rick had been so busy since the phone call
that he hadn‟t been conscious of how Scotty felt. Now
he knew. Scotty was as fond of Barby as if she were his
own sister.
“We‟ll find the car if it‟s in our area,” Rick stated
positively. He put the Cub on a northward course, at
slightly less than a thousand feet altitude. From that
height they could see great stretches of the road, but it
was still possible to tell a car‟s color without error.
The Shore Road was almost deserted. It was little
traveled, except by people who lived in the towns along
the coast, because the main highway south from Newark
was much better.
They passed over Jerrick‟s Crossing without seeing
19
more than a half dozen cars. None of them were maroon.
Jerrick‟s Crossing, so called because of its railroad
bridge over a section of marshland, was asleep in the
afternoon sun.
A short distance above the crossing Rick saw an
angular structure loom on the horizon. In a few moments
he identified it as the roller coaster at Seaside
amusement park. Its form became more rounded and
other buildings became visible. On the south side of the
park was a building with a slate roof. That was the
location of the new Spindrift project.
As the plane neared the amusement park, Rick saw
that it was surrounded by a high board fence. On the
road side, there was a good stretch of grass. That was
where he would land in the morning when they reported
for work.
Scotty watched the highway through the binoculars,
examining every car.
“There‟s nothing rottener than a hit-and-run driver,”
Scotty said once.
Rick nodded, but didn‟t reply. He was suddenly
conscious that the plane still moved at top speed. He
throttled back to cruising speed, taking an anxious look
at the gas gauge. He had enough for another hour‟s
flying time. That would be plenty. If an hour passed with
no sign of the maroon car, it would mean that it wasn‟t
in their search area.
He swung off the main Shore Road onto a turnoff,
covered it completely, then swung south again to retrace
some ground in case the maroon car had passed while he
20
was exploring the byway. No maroon car was in sight,
although nearly every other color was represented in the
thin stream of traffic.
“Seaford ahead,” Scotty said.
Tenseness was growing in Rick again. The maroon
car would have gotten farther south than Seaford. He
dropped to eight hundred feet and circled the town. Then
he did figure eights over it, giving Scotty a chance to
examine every street. There weren‟t many. He flew
north along Million Dollar Row to Smugglers‟ Reef.
When he saw the Creek House below, he turned inland
again and went south along the Shore Road.
When he had covered enough of the highway to be
sure the maroon car hadn‟t slipped by while he circled
over Seaford, Rick went north again. He found the turn-
off that ended in a wood road and followed it until it lost
itself in cutover timber. There was no sign that a car had
been on the road, even though he dropped down to
treetop height to permit a close look at the dirt road
itself.
“We‟ve missed it,” Scotty said tonelessly.
“Yes.” Rick brightened at a thought. “But don‟t forget
the other areas are covered, too. Maybe Gus or the State
Police found some sign of it.”
“I hope so.” Scotty didn‟t take his eyes from the
terrain below. “But I wish Captain Douglas had all of his
troopers looking for the car with us, instead of hunting
that gangster.”
Rick considered. He didn‟t know where the accident
had taken place. But the camp where the swimming
21
meet was held happened to be west of Whiteside. A hit-
and-run driver would have to go right through the town
to reach the Shore Road. That wasn‟t impossible, of
course, but it was unlikely, unless the car had a definite
destination within the area. If the driver didn‟t know the
area, he probably wouldn‟t take a chance on unknown
roads. He would head west, planning to lose himself in
the maze of traffic around Newark, Bayonne, and the
other sprawling industrial cities of the New Jersey
flatlands. If he did know the roads, he would realize that
going south would trap him. So he would surely go west.
Gus, manager of the Whiteside airport and Rick‟s
good friend, was covering the western sector. If the
maroon sedan had gone west, Gus would surely spot it.
Rick covered the highway right into Whiteside itself.
For luck, he circled over the town as he had over
Seaford. There was no maroon sedan.
“We‟re going home,” he told Scotty. “I‟m anxious to
find out how Barby is.”
“Same here,” Scotty agreed. “Anyway, we‟re sure the
car didn‟t go south. Or if it did, the driver put the car in a
garage or something. It isn‟t out in the open or we‟d
have seen it.”
“Maybe we ought to take a look at those summer
cottages below Spindrift,” Rick said thoughtfully. He
banked south once more.
A short distance down the coast from his home were
two summer colonies. He lost altitude and went over
them low enough to see every detail. In spite of the trees,
he was certain no maroon car was in either of the
22
settlements. The trees weren‟t thick enough to hide a car,
nor did the cottages have garages.
“That does it,” Scotty said.
Rick headed the Cub toward Spindrift, in sight on the
ocean ahead. From the air one could see that Spindrift
was not really an island. It was connected to the
mainland by a rocky tidal flat, above water at low tide.
However, no car could cross the flat and it was difficult
for foot traffic. So the island‟s privacy was guaranteed.
Rick circled in order to look into the boat cove on the
north side of the island. Both motorboats were tied to the
dock. His father and mother were at home, then.
Suddenly anxious, he slipped to lose altitude quickly,
banked vertically over the laboratory, almost touching
the radar antenna with his wing, and slapped the Cub
down on the springy turf. He didn‟t wait to taxi back to
take-off position. Instead, he let the Cub roll right to the
front door of the big house that faced the Atlantic. He set
the brakes and got out, Scotty right behind him.
Rick ran up the steps and onto the porch, then stopped
short at the sight of Barby. Worried as he was, he
couldn‟t restrain a grin.
Barbara Brant was a very pretty girl, always in radiant
good health. Her high color and exuberant spirits had
always made it impossible for her to look languid, and,
as she put it, “so spiritual.” But now she looked very
languid indeed, and she was making the most of it. The
shock of the accident had drained the color from her face
and she looked very pale.
The Brants had placed her in a comfortable armchair,
23
her legs on a hassock. One leg was bandaged from knee
to foot. Her golden head rested on a pillow—a dark-
colored one from the porch sofa. Rick, knowing his
mother, was sure Mrs. Brant had wanted to use a regular
soft bed pillow. He was equally sure that Barby had
insisted on the dark one, knowing the pallor of her face
would be much more dramatic.
She raised a limp hand. “Rick,” she said huskily.
Rick heard Scotty‟s sudden intake of breath behind
him. Scotty didn‟t know Barby as he did. Scotty thought
Barby‟s act was genuine illness. He didn‟t know that
Barby would be upstairs in bed with Mrs. Brant in
anxious attendance if she were as faint as she looked.
Rick managed to control the grin that kept popping to
the surface. Part of the grin was his pure relief at finding
that she really was all right. He feigned what he hoped
was a worried look and hurried to her side. He took the
limp hand.
“Will you live?” he asked tenderly.
There was sudden suspicion in Barby‟s eyes, but she
answered faintly, “I hope so.”
“How about Jerry?” Rick asked.
“He was wonderful,” Barby sighed. “Just wonderful.
He carried me from the wreck all the way to the
hospital/Rick had a mental image of Jerry, who wasn‟t
particularly husky, carrying Barby. “In his arms?” he
asked incredulously.
“Well, no.” Barby bit her lip.
“How?” Rick demanded.
A little color came into Barby‟s face. “He used the
24
fireman‟s carry,” she said.
Rick coughed. He had to, to keep from laughing. How
Barby‟s love for the romantic and dramatic must have
suffered! He had a picture of her draped over Jerry‟s
shoulder like a sack of grain. “First-aid training is a
wonderful thing,” he managed. “Don‟t you think so,
Scotty?”
Scotty did. He looked at Barby anxiously. “Sure
you‟re all right, Sis?”
“I‟m fine,” she assured him.
“How‟s the leg?” Rick asked.
“It‟s all right,” Barby said.
Rick nodded. He was sure the leg was all right, but he
was just as sure that it was very painful. Otherwise,
Barby‟s color would have come back, at least a little.
But she was game. She would deny the pain to everyone
except their mother. He squeezed her hand. “You had us
worried, Sis. What happened?”
“Jerry was bringing me to the boat landing and we
stopped at the light two blocks above the department
store. We went ahead on green, but the other car went
through the red and hit us. I didn‟t see the car. Jerry did.
He even got the license number. The car backed away,
then kept on going. Jerry made sure I didn‟t have any
broken bones, and that I wasn‟t bleeding, then he put me
over his shoulder and took me to the hospital. I haven‟t
seen him since.”
Rick knew the intersection. It was less than a hundred
yards from the hospital. Also, Barby‟s concise recital
confirmed his belief that she was far from being as badly
25
off as she looked. He said, “We didn‟t find the car, Sis.
I‟m going to call Captain Douglas. Maybe someone else
did.” He left her with Scotty and went into the library.
He shook his head as Hartson Brant asked if he had had
any luck.
“Barby‟s fine,” the scientist told him, “except that she
won‟t be walking for a day or so. She got quite a painful
bruise. Jerry had gone when we got to the hospital. So I
assume he‟s all right.”
Rick called the State Police Barracks and got Captain
Douglas. “Not a sign of a maroon car of any
description,” he said. “Any luck in the other areas?”
“Not yet,” Captain Douglas replied. “But we haven‟t
given up. The hit-and-run driver couldn‟t have gotten
out to the main road, no matter what direction he took,
before you and Gus got to the intersections. He‟s near
Whiteside somewhere, and the moment he pokes his
nose out, there will be a police car waiting for him.
We‟re blocking all roads to catch Soapy Strade, and I‟ve
instructed the men at the road blocks to watch for the
hit-and-run car, too. Thanks for trying, Rick.”
“I‟ll be here if you need me,” Rick replied. “Have you
seen Jerry?”
“Yes. He came here as soon as he delivered Barby to
the hospital emergency room. He‟s at the Morning
Record now. He kept his head and got a good
description of the car. He also got the license number.
We‟ve checked on it. A stolen car.”
“No wonder it was hit and run,” Rick said
thoughtfully. “Looks like we‟ve got car thieves to deal
26
with.”
“That will make it easier, not harder,” Captain
Douglas assured him. “We‟ll get the man responsible,
Rick. Never fear.”
“I know you will,” Rick said. “But I wish you had
him now. Barby‟s fine, but it‟s just luck.”
“We‟ll get him,” the captain said again. “It may take a
little time, but it‟s sure. We‟ll get him, Rick.”
And from the tone of his voice, Rick knew that he
meant it.
27
CHAPTER III
Strange Tracks
Rick awoke with his mother‟s voice in his ears. For a
moment he lay still, then he realized that she was calling
him. He jumped out of bed and ran to the door. “Yes,
Mom?”
“Telephone, Rick,” Mrs. Brant replied. “It‟s Captain
Douglas.”
Rick didn‟t wait to dress. He ran downstairs in his
pajamas and hurried into the library. There was a phone
upstairs in his parents‟ room, but he wasn‟t sure his
father was up yet.
His voice was still thick with sleep as he answered,
“What is it, Captain?”
“We have a lead,” the State Police officer replied. “It
isn‟t much, except that it gives a direction. One of my
cars picked up a man who claims to have seen a maroon
sedan heading south. He said the car was going so fast it
hit only the high spots in the road.”
28
“But we covered the southern area like a blanket,”
Rick objected.
“I know you did. We have to consider the timing,
Rick. You got to the intersection before the car could
possibly have made it, then you worked north. I figure
the car could have made about five-eighths of the
distance from Whiteside to the intersection in the same
time, if it really traveled. We‟d better assume that it
turned off somewhere and never got to the intersection.
In other words, the car is still somewhere in the area.”
“Couldn‟t it have gotten out during the night?” Rick
asked.
“Not a chance,” Captain Douglas replied definitely. “I
didn‟t remember to tell you this last night, but we asked
for help from the Civil Defense Auxiliary Police in our
search for Soapy Strade. They set up road blocks on
every road out of the area about the time you and Gus
got back. They‟ll be on duty until we get Strade. And
we‟ve given them a description of the hit-and-run car,
too, so they can watch for it as well as for Soapy.”
Rick knew New Jersey had a good Civil Defense
force. He was glad the State Police had asked for their
co-operation.
“How do we dig this car out?” he asked.
“Mainly, by keeping your eyes open,” Captain
Douglas said. “Will you take another swing over the
southern area this morning?”
“We‟ll get going as soon as I can dress and have
breakfast,” Rick agreed. “There will be plenty of time
before we have to go to work.”
29
“Good. Drop a message, as I told you yesterday, if
you see anything. Then phone me when you land.”
“Will do,” Rick said. “How‟s the search for the
gangster coming?”
“No luck. So far as we know, he hasn‟t crossed into
our state. The New York police think he may have
headed north to the border.”
“Hope you get him,” Rick said. He rang off and ran
upstairs to shower and get into his clothes.
A short time later he paused on the way downstairs
and knocked on Barby‟s door.
“Come in,” Barby said.
He pushed open the door and walked in. Barby was
propped up in bed with a breakfast tray on her lap. She
had regained her color.
“What luxury!” Rick exclaimed. “Breakfast in bed!
How long does this go on?”
Barby smiled. “If it wasn‟t extra work for Mother, I‟d
just as soon have it go on indefinitely. But I‟ll be all
right by tomorrow. Rick, will they catch that car?”
“Captain Douglas says so.” Rick told her about the
phone call. “We‟ll keep trying,” he finished. “If the car‟s
in this area, we‟ll get it.”
Barby frowned. “I know you and Scotty,” she stated.
“Let the police do it, Rick. Anyone who would smash
another car and keep on going is dangerous. You and
Scotty can help find the car, but don‟t try to do anything
else about it, please?”
“We probably won‟t get a chance,” Rick said
evasively. He didn‟t want to make any promises.
30
“Listen, Sis, I got to run. We‟ll see you after work
tonight. Leg hurt much?”
“Not much,” Barby said. “It was pretty bad last night,
but it isn‟t hurting much this morning. I‟m fine, Rick.”
He gave her a comradely wink. “Make the most of it,
Sis. An opportunity to be the center of attraction doesn‟t
come very often.”
Barby threw a muffin at him. He fielded it and tossed
it back. “Temper, temper,” he cautioned. “Invalids don‟t
throw muffins.”
“This one does,” Barby said. “Go away.” But she
couldn‟t help smiling.
Rick found Scotty already eating breakfast in the big
dining room. Mrs. Brant joined them for coffee.
“The others have gone to work,” Mrs. Brant told
them. “Your father took them to the Whiteside landing a
little while ago. He should be back any moment. Are
you going to start working today?”
“After we take another look for that hit-and-run car,”
Rick said.
The boys finished breakfast quickly, then went out to
the Cub. The gas supply was low and it was necessary to
go via the Whiteside airport.
Gus, the airport manager, speculated on the maroon
car‟s location as he hosed gasoline into the tank. “Must
be close by. Didn‟t get out in my area. I stayed in the air
until I saw the Civil Defense cops setting up road blocks.
Douglas said he radioed his patrol car up north and they
kept the highway bottled like a cork. You‟ll find it
somewhere around Seaford, and I‟ll bet on it.”
31
“I hope you win,” Scotty said grimly. “I want to
widen my circle of friendship. I want to meet a guy who
drives a maroon sedan.”
Gus nodded soberly. “When you do, I‟ll lend you a
heavy wrench.”
Airborne once again, Rick headed south as he had the
day before. At the intersection, he and Scotty saw the
road block set up by the Civil Defense police. They were
stopping each car as it approached the intersection from
the Shore Road, and they were giving the cars a careful
going-over before permitting them to continue.
Rick spoke his satisfaction. “Strade or the hit-and-run
driver won‟t get past those guys.”
“Unless they‟ve managed to already,” Scotty added.
“Let‟s head north. Take your time and keep low. I‟ll
keep my eyes peeled.”
They covered the area practically a yard at a time,
now and then swooping low for a closer look at
something. Only once did they find a maroon car. It was
in a garage at Jerrick‟s Crossing. The garage doors were
open, and Rick flew so low his wheels touched the
topmost branch of a tree. The car was a convertible, and
of the wrong make.
Nowhere else, from the intersection to Whiteside, did
they even see a suspicion of a maroon car. The hit-and-
run car had vanished from sight.
“If it‟s in the area, it‟s under cover,” Scotty said. “No
use beating the air. Might as well go to work.”
Rick nodded. Scotty was right. He banked around and
headed for the project. In a short time the curving
32
structure of the roller coaster was in sight, then the
amusement park itself.
“I‟m going to buzz the field,” Rick said. “Take a long
look for any obstructions.”
He lost altitude rapidly, pulling out at a hundred feet.
As they flashed over the level stretch where they could
land between the amusement park and the road, he stood
the plane up on a wing to give Scotty a better look.
Past the strip, he leveled off and gained altitude. He
cast a look at Scotty. “Is it okay?”
Scotty had a thoughtful expression on his face. “Do it
again. Stay a little higher and slower.”
“All right.” Rick banked around and made another
run. “See anything?”
“Yes. I saw a track in the grass where a car has gone
in through the fence.”
Rick‟s pulse quickened. “I want a look at the
amusement park. Let‟s ride the roller coaster.”
“Let‟s,” Scotty agreed.
Rick circled over the amusement park, keeping barely
above the top of the roller coaster. Both he and Scotty
scanned the ground below. There was no sign of life.
The buildings were shabby, either unpainted or with
peeling paint. Grass had sprung up everywhere. Even the
midway was overgrown. But here and there were
stretches of black-top road, running between the
buildings.
“Mighty queer,” Scotty said. “Why should they pave
inside, and not pave the main entrance?”
“The main entrance isn‟t on the Shore Road,” Rick
33
explained. “I‟ll show you.” He made another wide swing
over the amusement park. On its north side was a paved
roadway leading in from the Shore Road to a huge gate.
“There‟s the main entrance. They put it there so people
could find parking space in that big field across the
way.” The parking field would have been a better
landing place, except for posts that had marked off the
parking areas.
“There must be some kind of gate on the Shore Road
side,” Scotty objected. “A car wouldn‟t go right up to
the fence, stop, and back out again.”
“Of course not,” Rick agreed. “There‟s probably a
service gate of some kind. But the best way to tell is to
land and see. We have to land, anyway, if we‟re going to
work.”
He swung wide and gauged his altitude and distance,
then cut the throttle. The nose dropped to glide position.
“Keep a sharp eye out,” he warned. “Let‟s not pile up on
an old bucket or something.” His father had examined
the field, but someone could have tossed junk there
since.
The Cub lost altitude rapidly, dropped low over the
electric wires that had served the amusement park, sped
down the grassy field and then “sold out.” Rick hauled
the wheel back into his lap and felt the wheels touch
grass. The plane settled and slowed rapidly. In a moment
Rick locked the brakes and the boys got out.
Around the corner of the amusement park fence they
could see the project building, but before walking to it,
they went back to where Scotty had seen the automobile
34
tracks in the grass.
The grass was a good ten inches high. There was no
doubt that a car had passed over it, crushing it down.
The boys looked at each other without speaking. No
words were necessary because they were both thinking
the same thing. They walked down the twin rows of
crushed grass to the high board fence that surrounded the
amusement park. The rows ended at a gate. It was
obviously not a public gate, since no paved road led to it.
Probably it had been used to bring in heavy equipment,
shortening the distance from the main highway.
“First we go to see Dr. Winston,” Rick said.
“Then what?”
Rick grinned at Scotty, but there was no mirth in it.
“Then we figure out a way to get inside this fence. A car
went in, all right, but no car came out. At least not this
way. So it‟s still inside, probably. And maybe . . . just
maybe . . . it‟s a maroon sedan.”
“Well find out,” Scotty said.
The project building was a boxlike affair, two stories
high. The first floor was all one big room. Benches had
been improvised at one end, and packing cases had been
stood on their sides in tiers to form shelves. There were
tables made by putting planks across sawhorses. The
place was so cluttered Rick wondered how anyone could
possibly find anything.
In the midst of the clutter, Dr. Parnell Winston and
Dr. Julius Weiss were bent over a stack of wiring
diagrams. At the benches were several technicians who
35
had been hired for the project. The air was heavy with
the typical odors of an electronics laboratory, mostly
burnt insulation and the acrid smoke of soldering.
At one end of the big room, in front of a wide, flimsy
door, stood what appeared to be a tractor. It had
caterpillar treads and a powerful engine. But there were
no shift levers, no steering wheel, and no place for a man
to sit. Against the wall near by was a huge bulldozer
blade.
Rick and Scotty walked through the maze of cases
and parts to where Winston and Weiss were pouring
over the diagrams. Not wanting to interrupt, they stood
waiting.
Parnell Winston was a powerfully built six-footer
with a heavy thatch of thick black hair and amazingly
bushy eyebrows. His face was ruddy. He was forty, but
looked ten years younger. Rick had seen him only a few
times, and then briefly, but he liked what little he had
seen of the new scientist.
Julius Weiss, an old friend, was a much older man.
He was small, slight, and stooped, with thinning hair. He
was widely known as a mathematician, as well as a
leading scientist in the electronics field.
“I think we‟d better redesign the circuit,” Winston
said. “There‟s a space problem, but we can overcome it
by using transistors instead of tubes. I prefer transistors
for a job of this sort, anyway. They won‟t break on
impact.”
Julius Weiss agreed. “Suppose you check on the
progress of the memory circuit, then, and I‟ll get to work
36
on this.” He looked up and saw the boys. “Well! Did you
find the car?”
“No, sir,” Rick answered. “How did you know we
were looking for it?”
Weiss smiled. “Behold the younger generation,
Winston. It appears that they have never heard of a
communications device called the telephone.”
“Your father called to explain that you‟d be late,”
Winston explained. “Welcome to the project. Ready to
buckle down?”
“We will be,” Scotty said, “but there‟s something we
want to do first.” He told the scientists about the track
into the amusement park.
Winston shook his head. “I doubt that you‟ll find
what you‟re looking for, but you go ahead and try. We‟ll
discuss your work when you get back.”
“We can‟t overlook any possibilities,” Rick said.
“This won‟t take long. We‟ll find a loose board in the
fence, or we‟ll make one. Expect us back in about fifteen
minutes.”
Weiss motioned to a workbench. “You‟ll find a pinch
bar over there. In case you have to pry a bit.” He turned
back to his diagrams.
“Let‟s go,” Rick said. Scotty was already on his way
to the bench. He picked up the bar and followed Rick
into the open.
The fence ran along the edge of the project driveway.
They inspected it for loose boards and found none.
Scotty selected a wide one and grinned at Rick. “Here
we go housebreaking.” He inserted the end of the bar
37
and pried. Nails protested. Scotty put on a little more
leverage and the bottom of the board came loose.
Scotty tossed the pinch bar to the grass next to the
project building door. “After you,” he said politely.
“If we find what we‟re looking for, you may wish you
had kept that bar,” Rick told him. He squeezed through
the opening into the amusement park.
38
CHAPTER IV
The Amusement Park
Rick surveyed the amusement park carefully, his quick
eyes taking in the circular platform of the caterpillar
ride, and the flat, wooden bowl of the whip. The
machinery had long since been removed from both. He
saw wooden platforms where barkers had once touted
various other rides which had been removed bodily,
leaving no clue as to their type. There were booths
which had housed spun candy, lemonade, frozen custard
and hot-dog concessions, and low buildings where he
remembered seeing a rifle range, a quoit game, and other
devices for removing money from the customers.
He pointed to the biggest building. “That used to be
the fun house,” he told Scotty. He kept his voice low.
“That long building with the queer shape was the water
ride.”
Scotty‟s voice was low too. “What‟s a fun house?”
Rick looked at his pal with amazement. “Haven‟t you
39
ever been to an amusement park?”
“Nope. I‟ve been to carnivals and circuses, but there
never was a fun house.”
“I guess they have them only in permanent places,”
Rick agreed. “There‟s a whole collection of stuff
inside. This one had a giant shoot the chutes, a big barrel
you could walk through while it turned, a big turntable
that spun people off, those wavy mirrors that make you
look fat or skinny, and a flight of stairs that would
straighten out when you climbed them.”
“Sounds like a good way to break your neck,” Scotty
remarked. He, too, was examining every visible inch of
the amusement park.
“We‟d better go to the spot in the fence where the car
came in,” Rick suggested. He led the way. “Nobody
broke their neck because there were warning signs.
Anyway, only kids and young people usually tried the
stairs and the shoot the chutes. It was fun. There were
men to catch anyone who slipped.”
Rick kept close to the fence, Scotty behind him. They
reached the corner and turned. Rick watched for a track
in the grass, and for signs of a gate, but the grass was so
high that they didn‟t see the track until they were almost
on it. The gate was a hinged section of the fence, secured
by a spring-bolt type of lock.
Scotty examined the lock, then tried it. “It‟s fairly
new,” he commented. “Looks like the park is occupied.”
Rick nodded. He had a sort of creepy feeling, as
though they were being watched. “Wonder where the
occupants are?”
40
“In one of the buildings,” Scotty said. “But which
one?” They sighted along the path in the grass, but it
joined a paved road. “Guess we‟ll just have to explore,”
he added.
Rick‟s eye caught a glimpse of twisted grass a little
distance away. He walked over and studied the ground.
There was no doubt of it. A single path led away from
the fence toward the paved road. “Must be a footpath,”
he mused. “Where does it come from?”
Scotty was already tracing the path back to the fence.
“Look here,” he said softly. He pushed at a board and it
swung smoothly away from the fence. He released it and
it swung back again.
Rick looked upward and saw a hinge where the board
should have been nailed to the upper fence rail.
“We must be on the wrong track,” he said. “This isn‟t
just a one-time deal. Whoever comes in here must come
often. You don‟t hinge a section of the fence just to
sneak in once or twice.”
Scotty scratched his head. “Now that you mention it,
why do you put a hinge on a board at all when there‟s a
perfectly good gate a few feet away?”
That stopped Rick. He didn‟t know. “Now that you
mention it,” he replied, “I can‟t see any reason.”
Scotty studied the amusement park buildings. “While
we‟re mentioning things,” he added, “why use this
section of the fence, anyway, if there‟s a main
entrance?”
“There‟s only one way to find out.” Rick pointed
across the grounds to where the towers of the main gate
41
could be seen under the roller coaster. “Let‟s take a
look.”
They walked diagonally across the grounds toward
the gate. It was broad daylight and there was no point in
trying to conceal their presence. If anyone challenged
them, they would simply say that they were curious
about the old amusement park.
The reason for using the highway side gate was clear
before they even reached the main gate. It was not only
barred, with a piece of four-by-eight timber, but it was
nailed shut. The ticket houses through which pedestrians
had once poured were boarded up.
Rick searched his head for a clue to the reason for a
hinged board. He said aloud, “The lock on the gate isn‟t
an old one. Besides, anyone with time enough to put a
hinge on a board could either change the gate lock or
break it.”
Scotty grinned. “Now we‟ve got a real mystery to
solve.”
“The clue of the squeaky hinge,” Rick agreed.
“Except that it doesn‟t squeak. Look, we have to assume
that the same man, or men, uses both the gate and the
board. What‟s the board got that the gate hasn‟t?”
Scotty rubbed his chin. “Next question. I don‟t know
the answer to that one.”
They were under the roller coaster now. Scotty
pushed on an upright and it creaked a little.
“Not very steady,” Rick observed. “Must have
termites.” He traced the path of the coaster with his eyes.
It rose into the air, then dipped sharply to the roof of the
42
fun house. He recalled that an upper room had been a
labyrinth, pitch black inside. It had taken a good five
minutes to find one‟s way in the darkness, and once or
twice during that time the roller coaster had passed
overhead, filling the room with a terrible thundering
noise. Very scary stuff indeed, until you had been
through it a couple of times.
“The fun house is nearest,” he said. “We‟ll give that a
try.” He led the way, pondering meanwhile about the
hinged board and the gate. He speculated for a moment,
then suggested, “Suppose the hinged board was fixed
first, then the gate was added later in order to let a car
in?”
Scotty disposed of that theory. “The hinges on the
gate are a lot older than the hinge on the fence. That‟s
not even rusted very much. The gate hinges are thick
with rust.”
Rick gnawed at the problem the way Dismal, the
Spindrift Island pup, gnawed at a bone. He thought of
many things and rejected them in the same instant.
“I‟d better stop thinking about it,” he muttered. “The
more I think, the more confused I get.”
Scotty chuckled softly. “Leave it in the oven for a
while. Maybe it will turn into pie all by itself.”
That method usually worked pretty well for Rick. If
he stopped worrying about a problem, the solution often
came unbidden while he was thinking about something
else.
He shifted his attention to the side of the fun house.
There was a painted clown that covered the entire wall,
43
with the words “Fun House” in crooked letters across his
pointed cap. Once the clown had been gay with bright
colors, but the paint was peeling and one eye was
missing entirely. The remaining eye was forlorn and a
little sad.
“Wonder why the place went out of business?” Scotty
asked.
“It ran down the same time the summer residents
stopped coming to Seaford,” Rick explained. “They kept
it open for a few years hoping to draw people from
Newark and the other big cities, but it‟s too much of a
drive for an evening‟s fun.” He added, “Besides, I don‟t
think people care much about amusement parks any
more. I‟ve heard of two or three closing down recently.”
They reached the building and Rick put his ear to a
bare section of board and listened. There was no sound
from inside. “All quiet,” he said in a low voice. “Let‟s
try the front.”
They walked to the front of the building, making as
little noise as possible. The main doors were closed,
locked with a heavy padlock. Rick tried the door into the
teller‟s booth and it gave slightly. He cast a quick look at
Scotty, then pushed a little harder. The door creaked
complainingly.
In a moment the door was open far enough to slip
through. Rick stepped into the booth and looked around.
He guessed that the door through which he had come
was only a convenience, not often used while the fun
house was open for business. Usually such booths were
reached from inside the building, so there must be
44
another door. It took him a moment to find it because it
was only a half door that opened under a little counter.
There was no knob. He pushed and it gave.
Scotty had stepped into the booth behind him. He
grunted with satisfaction as Rick found the door under
the counter. “Go ahead,” he whispered. “I‟m right
behind you.”
“Okay.” Rick‟s heart beat faster as he crouched down
and swung the door wide. Bending low, he went in, then
straightened up in the fun house itself. Scotty joined him
and they stood in silence, looking the place over.
To their right, the giant slide rose from the floor to a
sort of gallery. Rick remembered shooting-the-chute
down the slide. It gleamed dully under a coating of
preservative, probably a plastic spray. Next to the slide
was the stairway to the gallery, and beside the stairway a
huge door. The door led into a room filled with mirrors,
he recalled. They were the kind of mirrors that give a
distorted view, making you look twisted, fat or skinny,
or like weird twins. To the left of the doorway was
another stairway. There had been a sign at the bottom
warning that the stairway was a trick giant slide, but the
sign was gone.
The big barrel was somewhere in the dimness to the
right of the main entrance. The centrifugal dish that spun
people off as it whirled was back under the trick stairs.
“What‟s upstairs?” Scotty asked in a whisper.
“A labyrinth room,” Rick replied. “Perhaps other
rooms, too, but I don‟t remember them.”
“We going to search?”
45
Rick shrugged. There didn‟t seem to be anyone in the
building. “I don‟t think it‟s much use. There‟s no place
here to drive a car in.”
“Let‟s take a look, anyway. There would be room for
ten cars behind those stairs and the slide.”
Rick started to say that the mirror room was behind
the stairs, then he realized that one room couldn‟t take
up all the space. There must be others. He walked across
the dusty floor to the entrance to the mirror room and
looked in. There was very little light. The main room
was bright enough because windows were set high in the
walls, but in this inner room there were no windows at
all. He wished for a flashlight.
The mirrors had been removed. He could see in the
dim light that the walls were bare.
“I see a door,” Scotty whispered. He pointed to the
rear of the room.
Rick made out the outline of a door and moved
toward it. Scotty was there first, however. He put his ear
to the door and listened, then whispered, “No noise. I‟m
going to try it.” He turned the knob slowly, then pulled
on the door. It opened with only a faint creak of rusty
hinges. Scotty peered through.
In a second he was at Rick‟s side, lips against his ear.
“There‟s a car in there,” he said excitedly.
Rick felt a shiver run down his spine. He stepped
forward to see for himself. His nostrils twitched. There
was an acrid, familiar smell in the air that he couldn‟t
place. He peered into the dimness and saw a car. It was a
sedan, and it was black. There was no doubt of the color
46
because a vagrant ray of sunlight came through a crack
somewhere in the room beyond and fell across the car‟s
hood. It was a car, but not the right one.
Scotty sneezed.
Instantly feet hit the floor somewhere on the other
side of the wall, out of range of the door. A man‟s voice
called, “Who‟s there?”
Rick froze. Then he realized there was no use of
trying to run or take cover. Before they could get out of
the park the man would get a good look at them. He
decided on boldness.
“Where are you?” he called. “We didn‟t know there
was anyone here.” He stepped through the door.
Feet pounded on the boards of the outer room. There
was a moment of silence, then footsteps ran toward
them. In a second Rick was face to face with the
occupant of the fun house.
He was dressed in trousers and sweat shirt, and his
hair was tousled. His thin face needed a shave. A white
streak across his chin indicated that an old injury had left
a scar.
“What you kids doin‟ in here?” he asked in a rough
manner. “Come out here so‟s I can git a look atcha.”
The boys stepped forward a little, hesitantly. The man
cast a look over his shoulder, then changed his mind. He
crowded forward, forcing them back. “Get out in the
other room. I wanna see whatcha look like.”
Scotty led the way into the main room.
The man looked them over. “This here‟s private prop-
pity,” he grated. “Whaddaya want? Whatcha after?”
47
“We work next door,” Rick said. He added,
placatingly, “Sir.”
Scotty spoke up. “We thought it would be fun to look
in here. We didn‟t know anyone was around.”
“Awright,” the man said. “So ya didn‟t know anyone
was here. Now ya know, so get out. And don‟t come
back. I‟m the caretaker, see? I gotta job, and it‟s keepin‟
people out, see? Now go on back where ya came from.
Beat it, see? I catch ya in here again and I‟ll bump yer
skulls together, see? Then I call the cops and turn you in
for trespassin‟. This time I‟m lettin‟ ya off. Now get
goin‟.”
“Yes, sir,” Rick agreed. His glance warned Scotty not
to make any trouble. “We‟re sorry. We didn‟t mean any
harm.”
“Yeah,” the caretaker said. “Get goin‟.”
They did so, back the way they had come. As they
hurried toward the project, they heard the caretaker
moving around in the booth, probably locking up.
“I would have to sneeze,” Scotty groaned. “But I
couldn‟t help it. Banana oil always makes me sneeze.”
Rick stopped dead in his tracks and stared at his pal,
eyes wide. “Banana oil! Of course! Scotty, that car!”
Scotty got it, too. “You‟re right! They use banana oil
in automobile lacquer. That car must have been
repainted, and only a few hours ago! Otherwise we
wouldn‟t have smelled the stuff.”
Rick increased his stride. They weren‟t done with the
amusement park, not by a long shot. Repainting a car in
the back of the fun house could only mean that there was
48
some good reason for changing its color. Covering
maroon paint with black was as good a reason as any.
Especially if the maroon paint had been scraped in an
accident—a hit-and-run accident!
“Wonder who the other guy was?” Scotty asked.
“What other guy?” Rick had seen only the caretaker.
“There were two,” Scotty said. “Remember how the
boards sounded after I sneezed? Those were the
footsteps of two men. Then there was a little delay, and I
think that was when the second man got under cover
somewhere so we wouldn‟t see him. What‟s more, the
caretaker told us to step forward, then he looked over his
shoulder and changed his mind. Someone else was in
that room, all right.”
It made sense. Now that Scotty had pointed out the
caretaker‟s actions, it made a lot of sense. Rick nodded.
“And the second man didn‟t want to be seen, either.”
“We woke them up,” Scotty guessed. “We were quiet
until I sneezed. They heard that and started to
investigate.”
Rick reached the board they had pried loose and
stepped through it, Scotty close on his heels. “Maybe
we‟d better put a hinge on it,” Rick said jokingly. “We‟ll
be going back in again, won‟t we?”
“You bet we will,” Scotty agreed. “And not in broad
daylight, either.” He turned and pushed the board into
place, and as he did so, Rick let out a yip.
“Got it! Scotty, I know why they hinged the board at
the front fence! For a man on foot, that‟s easier and
faster, especially if he doesn‟t want anyone to see him
49
going into the park!”
They shook hands solemnly. “That‟s it,” Scotty
agreed. “The quickest way would be for a car to drop a
man off right at the fence. He could be inside in a matter
of seconds, and if he took the precaution of not getting
out of the car until the highway was clear, no one would
ever know, even if he went in and out by day-light.”
“And that,” Rick concluded, “means that our friend
isn‟t a caretaker after all, and that he has no more
business in there than we have!”
50
CHAPTER V
A Problem in Cybernetics
“We‟ve got to be sure of our ground,” Rick said. “We
don‟t want to get Captain Douglas to send a cruiser
without more proof than we have—not when he‟s so
shorthanded.”
Julius Weiss and Parnell Winston nodded agreement.
“It wouldn‟t do to call for help without more proof than
the odor of banana oil and a hinged board,” Winston
agreed.
“But how can you get any sort of proof?” Weiss
asked.
Rick knew the answer to that one. “If we can show
that the amusement park has no caretaker, isn‟t that
reason enough for Captain Douglas taking a look?”
Winston grinned. “Plenty.”
Rick picked up the telephone and dialed the operator.
“I want to place a call to New York,” he said. “No, I
don‟t know the number, but it‟s a business firm: Michael
51
Curtis Investigations.”
Scotty handed him a pencil and a pad of paper. Rick
wrote down the number as the operator recited it after
calling Information. There was a pause, then the number
rang. A girl‟s voice answered.
“Is Mr. Curtis there?” Rick inquired.
“I‟m sorry. Mr. Curtis is not in. Can I help you?”
Mike probably was working on a case, Rick thought.
“Can you get in touch with him?” he asked.
“I can try, if it‟s urgent.”
“It is,” Rick said definitely. “Take a message for him,
please.”
“All right.”
Rick dictated slowly. “Urgent you find out present
status Seaside Play land, amusement park, located Shore
Road, Seaford. Especially need to know if caretaker
employed there. Park now out of business. Sign it Rick
Brant.”
The girl read the message back, promised to do what
she could, then rang off. Rick turned to his friends.
“That‟s that. Mike is out, which means he‟s probably on
a case, so we can‟t expect too much speed. I could go
into New York and sniff around myself, I suppose, but
it‟s probably faster to wait for Mike. He knows how to
get such dope in a hurry.”
Mike Curtis, private detective, was an old friend who
had worked with Rick and Scotty during the Sea Gold
adventure. Mike had learned the identity of the
mysterious and ruthless figure who had not stopped at
attempted murder in trying to take over the Sea Gold
52
plant.
“We might as well get to work,” Scotty said. “Need
any hired hands?”
“Just by coincidence, we need two.” Parnell Winston
smiled. “Come on, I‟ll give you assignments. Know
what we‟re up to?”
“In a general way,” Rick told him. “„Dad described
the thing to us, but there‟s plenty more I‟d like to know.”
“You can ask questions as we go along.” Winston
showed them a workbench. “That‟s yours. You‟ll find
most of the tools you need. If any are missing, borrow
from the technicians.”
The new scientist found a sheaf of sketches and
handed them to Rick. “Your father tells me I can turn
over a project to you two and then forget about it.”
“That would sort of depend on the project,” Rick said
with a grin. “What is this one?”
Winston replied with a question. “Did Hartson tell
you about possible military uses for this thing?” As the
boys nodded, he went on, “Well, such uses require that
the control unit used by the soldier be compact,
waterproof, rugged enough to take a beating, and cheap
to produce.”
Rick leafed through the drawings. “Just to give us an
idea before we start studying these, can you tell us how
the control unit will work?”
“Very easily. The unit will be a microwave radio,
operating on a wave length of one centimeter. That
means, of course, that it will be useful only on a line of
sight, since a centimeter wave acts like light. The
53
operator will speak code words into the unit and the
machine will respond. For the sake of ruggedness,
compactness, and simplicity, we‟ll use a printed circuit
and transistors in a plastic case. Any other questions?”
“Just one,” Rick said. “Is this a variable circuit? Will
we need to tune the unit?”
“No. We‟ll use a fixed circuit for this machine. If the
machine is acceptable to the Military, it will be a simple
matter to vary the circuit as required.”
“Good enough,” Rick agreed. “We‟ll get busy. I
suppose all the dope we need is in these papers?”
“It‟s all laid out for you,” Winston told them. “If you
run into trouble, call me, or Julius.”
Julius Weiss was back at work again on a complex-
looking circuit, built into an aluminum frame about the
size of a portable typewriter case.
Scotty found stools and they sat down. The ex-Marine
rubbed his chin. “Where do we start?”
“By studying these papers,” Rick said. He proceeded
to lay them out on the bench.
He had never had an assignment quite like this one
before, but as he went through the design he saw that it
was not going to be a very hard job. It would require
precise, painstaking work, but they could do it.
The first step was to lay out the design of the printed
circuit. Instead of using wires, this little control radio
would use lines of silver, actually silver ink, printed onto
a sheet of plastic. The condensers, resistors, and other
parts would be glued into the circuit as required.
“Not too bad,” Scotty said. “We can do it in a couple
54
of days if we really plug away. But what‟s this transistor
stuff? We‟ve never used transistors before. They must be
tubes, because the places in the design where they go are
the places where we‟d use tubes.”
“They act like tubes,” Rick agreed, “but that‟s all.
They‟re nothing like tubes.” He searched for a simple
explanation. “You know how a vacuum tube works?
Electrons flow from the cathode and are made to do
certain things. Well, to make them flow, the cathode has
to be heated. You might even say that the electrons are
„cooked‟ off the cathode. That takes a lot of power, and
it produces a lot of heat. Also, the cheapest way to make
a tube is to use glass, either with the air taken out, or
with some inert gas like krypton put in. Glass breaks, so
that kind of tube isn‟t very rugged. There are metal
tubes, but they cost more, and they‟re still subject to
failure.”
“I know about that,” Scotty said. “But where does the
transistor come in?”
“Well, if you take certain elements in the form of
crystals—I mean, with crystalline structures—you find
places where there are either too many electrons or too
few. The electrons can move inside the stuff just the way
they move through empty space in a tube, and it‟s easier
to make them move. It doesn‟t take so much power.
Now, if you apply a little current at the right point,
between the part which has too many electrons and the
part that doesn‟t have enough, you can control the flow
of electrons. Just the way the grid in a vacuum tube
does. Is that clear enough?”
55
“I get the idea,” Scotty agreed. “It‟s like having a
solid tube which doesn‟t take much power to operate.”
Rick nodded. “That‟s about right.” He searched
through a box of materials on the back of the bench and
found a tiny object that resembled a plastic bean. Three
wires projected from it, one from each end and one from
the center. Rick pointed to them in order. “Input, output,
and grid. And this little gimmick is the equivalent of a
tube.”
Scotty shook his head. “I‟m snowed,” he said. “Every
time I think I know a little about electronics, up comes
something new.”
Rick drew a set of draftsman‟s tools toward him from
the back of the bench, rummaged through a box of
assorted material until he found some heavy white paper,
then settled down to work. The first step was to plan the
physical layout of the tiny control unit, which was
nothing more than a miniature transmitter. The size
would be determined mainly by two things: the power
supply and the microphone, those being the bulkiest.
“Take a look,” he suggested. “What kind of power
supply does this thing need?”
Scotty went through the design until he found what he
needed. “Believe it or not,” he announced, “this thing
will operate on one pencil-type battery. It‟s the kind of
battery they use in hearing aids.”
“That‟s because we‟re using transistors. How about
the microphone?”
Winston came by in time to hear the question. He
reached toward the back of the bench and produced a
56
cardboard box. “Here it is. It‟s a crystal, designed to be
mounted on a plastic plate. You‟ll find instructions
inside.”
The microphone was about the size and thickness of a
bottle cap.
Rick did some quick figuring, then turned to Scotty
with a grin. “Know how big this handy-dandy dingus is
going to be?”
“Pretty small,” Scotty guessed. “About six inches by
three?”
“It‟s going to fit into a playing-card pack,” Rick told
him. “And there will be a little room left over!”
The boys worked rapidly for the rest of the day, not
talking much. They divided the work as always, with
Rick taking the job of building the circuit while Scotty
made the case and then some of the parts that were
required.
Rick drew the circuit on stiff paper, first in pencil,
with frequent erasures. Then, as he fitted the lines into a
rectangle of the proper size, he began to ink them in.
When he had finished, he had an exact scale drawing of
the completed circuit.
He let the ink dry while he chatted with Parnell
Winston, then went to work with scissors and
painstakingly cut the circuit out of the paper. It was late
afternoon before he finished. He put the fragile paper
skeleton down and looked at Scotty.
“How are you doing?”
Scotty had been cutting and shaping thin sheets of
plastic. He had the various parts of the case completed,
57
but not assembled. His biggest job remained to be done;
it was the slow, careful grinding of the front of the case
to take the tiny microphone. The little mike would be
inside the case, and the plastic wall in front of it had to
be so thin that it would vibrate when voice sound hit it.
Scotty was planning to do the job with a sanding disk
mounted on a drill press.
“I‟m making good time,” Scotty said. “How many of
these sets are we building?”
Rick didn‟t know. He called to Parnell Winston, who
was working across the room. “How many of these will
you want?”
“Let‟s have four,” the scientist answered. “We have
just enough parts for that many.” He put down the work
he was doing and joined the boys at their bench. His
keen eyes took in what they had accomplished. “You‟re
a fast pair. When will you have the first one done?”
“It depends on how long we work tonight,” Rick
answered. “How about our staying over? We could work
late, and at the same time we could keep an eye on the
amusement park.”
Dr. Winston thought it over. “I‟m not so sure it‟s a
good idea,” he said. “We‟d better ask Julius.” He walked
over to the little mathematician and talked with him
briefly, then came back, grinning. “I was a little worried
about your ability to take care of yourselves,” he
admitted. “Julius tells me to stop worrying. He claims
that if you were dumped into a cage of tigers he would
worry about the welfare of the tigers.”
The boys chuckled. “Then we‟ll stay,” Rick said.
58
“All right. You‟ll find army cots and blankets on the
second floor. There‟s a hot plate under the bench nearest
the door, with the makings for coffee and a few assorted
cans of food. You won‟t eat like kings, but you won‟t
starve, either.”
The scientist looked at his watch. “It‟s just about
quitting time.”
Winston and Weiss rode from Whiteside to the
project and back each day with one of the technicians.
Someone from Spindrift met them at the pier in one of
the island motorboats.
Rick and Scotty waited until the others had gone, then
they walked to the plane and staked it down, using a pair
of steel stakes from the baggage compartment. When the
Cub was secure, they took four additional stakes and
drove them into the ground in the form of a square with
the plane in the middle. They took a coil of wire and
strung it between the stakes, forming a low, two-strand
fence. Then Rick took the ends of the wires and led them
in through the plane door, which he left partially ajar.
Inside, he connected the wires to a small black box
under the dashboard. Taking care not to touch the plane,
he reached in through the open door and flipped a
switch.
The device was a cross between an electric fence and
a burglar alarm. If anyone touched the fence he would
get a slight warning shock. If he jumped the fence and
touched the plane, a loud horn would blow, and it would
continue blowing until someone came to shut it off.
The gadget was not foolproof by any means. Anyone
59
determined to steal the plane could do so by studying the
circuit and then disconnecting it. But casual visitors
would be warned away.
As Rick backed away, he looked at the amusement
park fence. For a moment he thought he saw the hinged
board move, but he watched steadily for a few seconds
and saw nothing. Imagination, he thought.
“Let‟s go crack a can of beans and make a pot of
coffee,” Scotty suggested. “I‟m so hungry my stomach is
sending out SOS messages.”
“Come to think of it, I could eat myself,” Rick
admitted.
“Don‟t eat yourself,” Scotty exclaimed in mock
horror. “That‟s cannibalism. Eat beans instead. More
nourishing.”
Rick groaned.
60
CHAPTER VI
Will-o’-the-Wisp
Rick sat in darkness, letting his thoughts wander,
keeping his eyes turned in the direction of the
amusement park. Scotty‟s deep, regular breathing was
the only sound.
The luminous dial of Rick‟s watch told him it was
just past midnight. Two hours to go before he would
awaken Scotty and then go to his own cot. They had
decided that they should take turns, four hours on and
four off, in keeping an eye on the amusement park.
Rick was sure the car was still in the fun house. The
project building was close enough so that the sound of
the car would not have gone unnoticed if it had left
during the day. He was determined that it would not get
out without their knowing it. They couldn‟t be sure it
was the maroon car, repainted, but there was a chance.
He and Scotty had a score to settle with the driver who
had come within an ace of hurting Barby seriously.
61
He leaned forward and stared out the window. He was
above the level of the fence and he could see clearly into
the amusement park—or as clearly as the darkness
permitted. It was a moonless night, slightly overcast, and
the buildings inside the fence were only dark blurs.
The sudden glitter of a star, low on the horizon,
attracted him. He watched it, noticing how diffused it
seemed. It must be one of the planets, probably Jupiter,
diffused by a thin cloud, he decided. Then he changed
his mind. No star or planet moved abruptly, and this one
had!
He leaned out of the window, straining to see. The
light was too high to be on the top of any building. But,
he suddenly realized, not too high to be on the top of the
roller coaster!
The high curve of the roller coaster was just visible.
No doubt of it, the light was on the coaster‟s highest
point!
With a bound he was at Scotty‟s cot, shaking him.
Scotty sat bolt upright.
“What‟s up, Rick?”
“There‟s a light on the roller coaster.”
In a moment both boys were at the window. Scotty
watched for a moment. “Wonder you didn‟t miss it
entirely,” he said. “It‟s no brighter than a will-o‟-the-
wisp. Wonder what it is?”
“Could be a pencil flashlight with a handkerchief over
it,” Rick surmised. “Question is, what do we do about
it?”
Scotty hesitated. “If we could get closer . . .”
62
Rick knew what he meant. “What are we waiting
for?”
They went down the stairs and through the litter of
parts on the first floor, then out into the night. They had
to go slowly, because there was so little light. They
found the loose board in the fence and slipped into the
amusement park.
Scotty put his lips against Rick‟s ear and whispered.
“How do you get to the top of the roller coaster?”
“I noticed a sort of ladder,” Rick answered in a
whisper. “It leads from the top of the fun house.”
“Looks like we‟d better pay another visit to our pal
the caretaker,” Scotty murmured. “Let‟s go.”
They made their way slowly, stopping frequently to
listen. The light on top of the roller coaster was no
longer visible, and once when they stopped to listen they
heard a muffled voice.
Rick turned and looked back the way they had come.
There was only darkness. What was more important,
there was nothing against which they could be seen as
silhouettes. They were safe enough, if no lights were
turned on, and if they were very quiet.
Rick estimated that they had covered about a third of
the distance to the fun house. He tugged at Scotty‟s
sleeve and whispered that they had better swing wide
and approach the place from the rear. The caretaker had
probably succeeded in locking the door through the
booth. Besides, what they wanted to see was in a room at
the back.
Scotty whispered his agreement and they slanted off
63
past a row of concession buildings, keeping far enough
away from the buildings to avoid rubble, but close
enough so they could jump behind them if necessary.
Rick‟s pulse was a little faster than usual. The
caretaker was a tough customer, and his threat to knock
their heads together was not an idle one.
The clouds overhead were thinning a little and
starlight enabled them to see somewhat better, although
it was still far too dark for easy going. Once Rick
banged his shins against something and gritted his teeth
to keep from crying out. He had to sit down and rub his
legs until the pain went away.
By slow stages they passed the fun house, then started
angling in to approach it from the rear. They were close
enough under the roller coaster to see every detail of its
structure, as a dense black outline against the lesser
darkness of the sky.
There was no longer a sign of any light, nor of any
living thing on the roller coaster. Rick wondered for the
tenth time what anyone would be doing up there. He
thought of going up for a look, but knew that was not
possible. The climb would be bad enough with a light.
Without one, it would be close to suicide. Roller coasters
weren‟t made for casual climbing, at least not in the
darkness.
The back of the fun house was in full view now, but
no light showed through. Then, as they approached, a
light appeared. It was a yellow, unsteady light that came
through a window set in the back of the building. The
window was about eight feet above the ground.
64
The boys stopped fifty feet away and consulted in
whispers.
“How do we get a look into the window?” Rick
asked.
Scotty whispered back, “Don‟t know. Unless you
stand on my shoulders.”
“Too risky,” Rick replied. “One slip and they‟d have
us. We couldn‟t keep from making noise. There must be
some other way.”
“Look for a crack,” Scotty suggested.
They scanned the rear of the building for a telltale
gleam of light, but there was none. “Now what?” Rick
asked. He looked for a vantage point from which they
might be able to see through the window, but saw only
the roller coaster.
He examined the structure more closely. The highest
point was close to the fun house, so getting on the track
wasn‟t practicable. But it might be possible to shinny up
one of the uprights. There were enough cross-pieces to
help out. He whispered the idea in Scotty‟s ear.
Scotty immediately walked to the nearest upright and
felt for handholds. There was a crosspiece directly above
their heads, and another about six feet above that. Rick
nudged Scotty and pointed to the second one.
Scotty wrapped his legs around the upright and
started up. Rick waited until he was standing on the first
crosspiece, then followed.
The wood of the upright seemed soft. Rick realized
that it was rotting away under the flaky paint. But it
seemed sturdy enough; it would hold them. He gripped
65
the first crosspiece and hauled himself up. In a moment
he was standing on it, waiting for Scotty to get a seat on
the upper piece.
Scotty whispered something that Rick didn‟t get. He
answered, “Be with you in a second.” He shinned up the
upright and swung to a seat next to Scotty. Both had
their arms braced around the upright.
Rick looked down. It was black under them. He could
just make out the white paint of the upright.
Ahead, at a slight angle below them, was the window.
They looked into a big room filled with machinery. Rick
guessed it was the machinery that had operated most of
the fun house apparatus. A car sat in a clear space. He
could see its engine hood, but that was all.
The source of the light was a lantern. It sat on a
wooden plank table, and two men were seated before it.
One was the caretaker.
The second man was redheaded, with close-cropped
hair. His face was thin, and its thinness emphasized the
width of his jaw. His mouth was just a colorless line,
turned down at the corners.
“Not much for looks,” Scotty whispered.
That was a fine piece of understatement, Rick
thought. The man gave him the creeps. “Wonder who he
is?” he said.
Scotty whispered, “I won‟t forget a face like that.”
Whoever the man was, he was nervous. His big hands
kept drumming on the table as he talked to his
companion. He fidgeted in his chair. Then he stood up
and walked out of the boys‟ line of vision.
66
Rick craned to see where he had gone, and leaned too
far out! He grabbed desperately at the upright, missed,
then got one arm wrapped around the cross-piece on
which he had been sitting. His body swung down, and
there was an unholy screech as the nails of the
crosspiece gave!
The crosspiece swung down and Rick dropped,
flexing his knees. He landed with a thud and sprawled
flat on the ground. Scotty came down the upright like a
fireman down a pole and helped him to his feet.
“Run for it,” Rick gasped.
He led the way, running at top speed despite the
stinging in his feet from the landing. The back door of
the fun house crashed open and yellow light came
through.
Rick dodged into the shadow of a building and kept
running. Scotty was close beside him.
They heard running feet, but no other sound.
“Be as quiet as you can,” Scotty whispered. “They
can‟t see us, and if they can‟t hear us, they won‟t know
where to look. Slow down.”
That made sense to Rick. He slowed his headlong
flight and took time to look back. Their pursuers were
not close, but he saw a flashlight beam searching the
ground some distance behind them.
Scotty took his arm and pointed. A second flashlight
was moving away from the first. That was good. So far
as they knew, there were only two men. They could keep
track of their movements.
Going slowly, with frequent checks on the locations
67
of the flashlights, they angled across the park. The
pursuers were together again, far up the fence near the
hinged board.
“All safe so far,” Rick whispered. He led the way to
the loose board quietly, but without lingering. In a short
time they were behind the locked doors of the project.
For a long time they crouched at the upstairs window.
They watched the flashlights move, first to the gate near
the road, then outside. Rick held his breath, waiting for
the plane‟s burglar alarm to sound. After a while the
flashlights returned again, and approached to a spot
almost under their window—to the loose board in the
fence. The boys watched, scarcely daring to breathe,
although Rick was sure the two men had guessed their
identity. Probably the reason the two hadn‟t invaded the
project was that they couldn‟t be sure how many men
had stayed overnight.
Presently the flashlights moved away and there was
nothing but darkness.
68
CHAPTER VII
Locked Controls!
When Parnell Winston and Julius Weiss arrived from
Spindrift the following morning they found Rick and
Scotty already at work.
The boys told the scientists about their adventure of
the previous night. At the end, Rick pulled up his trouser
leg and showed a pair of bruised knees. “Do I get a
Purple Heart for my wounds?” he demanded.
“I‟m tempted to revoke your junior G-man badge,”
Winston said. “What you did was fine, but where are the
results? The only thing you know today that you didn‟t
know yesterday is what the second man looks like.
Where‟s the gain in that?”
“None,” Rick agreed unhappily. “That‟s what makes
it rough. All we have to show for it is a pair of skinned
knees.”
“Now what?” Winston asked.
“Now we go to work and forget about the characters
69
in the fun house. At least for a while.” Rick sighed.
“And we have to go back again.”
“What for?” Julius Weiss demanded.
“We have to get a look at the engine serial number of
that car,” Rick stated. “I don‟t know how we can do it
yet, but that‟s the only way we‟ll have of proving that
it‟s the hit-and-run car.”
“There‟s only one way we‟ve thought of,” Scotty
added. “One of us can cause a commotion, and when the
men come out to see what‟s happening, the other one
can sneak in.”
Parnell Winston rose abruptly. “Better not say any
more,” he warned. “You spring ideas like that on us and
we‟ll have no choice but to tell you not to try it. Right,
Julius?”
“Absolutely,” Weiss agreed.
The boys got down to work. The evening before, Rick
had completed his cutout of the circuit and had stretched
a piece of silk on a small frame. Now he put the circuit
cutout on the silk, and systematically sprayed the silk
with layer after layer of liquid plastic until he was
certain that the coating was watertight. Then he let the
last coat of plastic dry and lifted the circuit cutout.
Where the cutout had been, the silk was still untouched.
Everywhere else it was coated with plastic.
Scotty, meanwhile, had cut a sheet of thin plastic to
the right size. Rick took it, placed the silk screen on it,
adjusted it carefully, then put clamps on to hold it in
place.
The next step was to mix finely powdered metallic
70
silver with a special quick-drying resin glue. Rick took a
fine paintbrush and painted the silk screen with a
uniform coat of the mixture. Then he waited a few
moments, removed the clamps, and lifted the silk screen
off.
On the plastic sheet, which was slightly smaller than a
playing card, silver lines gleamed in the exact shape of
the circuit. These printed silver lines were the wires of
the small transmitter.
The rest was easy but slow. Rick carefully glued the
various parts in place. There were condensers,
transformers, the microphone, a screw for the antenna
rod, and a toggle switch. After they were in place, he
soldered them to the silver lines.
While he worked, Scotty ground out the dime-size
hole in the front plastic cover where the microphone
would rest.
After lunch, Scotty took Rick‟s plastic on which the
transmitter was now complete, and mounted it with the
plastic sheets which he had fabricated the day before. As
each piece went into place, forming a box, he “welded”
the pieces of plastic together by using acetone as a
solvent. The last step was to insert the battery. It went
home against the contact points Rick had wired into the
circuit. Now only the antenna remained. A tempered
steel wire a few inches long was thrust into place and the
little control transmitter was complete, except for
testing.
The boys walked over to where Parnell Winston and
Julius Weiss were fitting a completed unit to bolts on the
71
tractor.
“We‟re ready for a test,” Rick announced.
The scientists looked up in surprise. “So soon?”
Winston asked. “That‟s remarkably fast work. Julius, are
we ready?”
“Just barely,” Weiss said. He connected terminals to a
twelve-cell storage battery, threw a switch, and said to
Rick, “Say something.”
Rick held the transmitter to his lips and asked, “Does
it work?”
Relays clicked in series through the unit the scientists
had just mounted.
“I‟ll say it does!” Winston exclaimed. “Well done,
both of you! How long will it take for the other units?”
“Another day,” Rick said. “We have the silk screen
now, and Scotty has the templates for the case. It‟s just a
matter of assembling the parts.”
Weiss examined the little transmitter. “Fine. Now, I
suggest you set the entire circuit in plastic. That will
prevent any breakage, no matter how roughly it is
handled.”
“Good idea,” Rick agreed. “Do we have the stuff?”
“You‟ll find it in the supply box,” Winston said.
The boys left the scientists to their work and
rummaged in the supply box until they found what they
needed, a can of liquid plastic and hardening powder.
While Scotty took off the upper lid of the tiny box,
Rick mixed some of the plastic with hardening powder.
Then he poured the stuff into the radio until it was level
with the top and put the box aside to harden. Once the
72
plastic hardened, the control unit would be completely
embedded, almost impervious to damage, moisture, or
temperature.
“Let‟s go home,” Rick suggested. “Nothing more we
need to do today.”
They said good-bye to the scientists, then went
outside into the bright sunlight.
On an impulse Rick walked to the fence. He was
curious about what the two men had been doing last
night. He found the board they had pried loose and
motioned to Scotty. “Take a look.”
Scotty did so. He grinned. “Tight as a tick. They were
making sure we didn‟t get in that way again. But how?
They didn‟t do any hammering.”
“Probably used screws,” Rick surmised. “Anyway,
they did a good job of it.” He pushed at the board and it
didn‟t move at all.
Scotty frowned. “When do we do our next job? We
can‟t stall too long. If that‟s the car that hit Barby, we
want to know it now, before it can get away.”
“Maybe tonight,” Rick suggested. “Suppose we come
down by boat?”
“Depends.” Scotty looked at the sky. “Another dark
night like last night and we could do it.”
The plane was as they had left it. Just to be sure, Rick
touched the Cub. The horn blasted. He cut the switch
quickly and disconnected the wires.
They stowed the stakes and wire in the luggage
compartment, then Rick got in the pilot‟s seat while
Scotty spun the propeller. The engine caught. Scotty
73
climbed in while Rick let it warm up.
Rick gunned the plane and taxied down the field to
the very end of the amusement park fence. He tested the
controls and they reacted perfectly. He released the
brakes and the Cub rushed through the grass, sluggish
because of the drag. Finally the tail came up, and in a
moment they were airborne. Rick climbed for altitude,
and at about eight hundred feet banked left on a course
for Spindrift. The Cub slid around smoothly and Rick
moved the wheel to level off. It didn‟t respond!
He put more muscle into it, but the wheel wouldn‟t
move at all. The controls were locked! Tentatively he
tried his ailerons again, in the opposite direction. It was
no use. They were frozen. He tried his elevators, gently
at first, then hard. They were locked. So was his rudder.
He looked at Scotty, his face white.
“She‟s frozen!”
Scotty lost color. “What do we do?”
Rick was already cranking his tab controls. “I‟ll try to
trim for level flight. You get as far away from me as you
can.
Scotty was on the upper side of the plane. They were
flying in a shallow bank of about 15 degrees. When Rick
got his tabs fully trimmed, the angle was a little less, but
they were still swinging in a wide circle.
“There‟s only one thing to do,” Scotty said. “I‟ve got
to get out and hang on the strut. That will balance us.”
Rick considered. He had no suggestion to counter
Scotty‟s. One thing was certain. They couldn‟t keep
swinging in circles forever.
74
He tried the controls again. From sheer habit he had
kept his hand on the wheel and his feet on the rudder
pedals, but both were useless. “Stand up as much as you
can,” he said. “I‟m going to slide under you. Maybe if
we‟re both on that side it will balance us.”
Scotty did so and Rick slid under him. The horizon
leveled somewhat, but still not enough. “We‟ll have to
do it your way,” he told Scotty. Only I’ll get out.”
Scotty grunted. “If we ever land this thing, it will
have to be done with the tabs. I can‟t do that. I haven‟t
been flying long enough. You‟ll have to. So I’ll get out.”
Rick had to agree that his friend was right. He started
to tell him to be sure to hang on tight, but realized Scotty
would need no such instruction. He looked out and
estimated their position. They were over the land, facing
south. He wanted to be over the water, facing north.
“Sit tight,” he directed. “We‟ll let the plane circle a
little more, so we‟re going in the right direction.”
He had to marvel at Scotty‟s calm tone of voice.
“Exactly how much chance do we have of landing?”
Rick‟s own voice was pretty steady. “Poor, but not
impossible. If we can get level, I‟ll try to let us down on
the tabs.”
“Where? At Whiteside airport?”
That had been Rick‟s first thought, but he changed his
mind. “At Spindrift. Frankly, Scotty, I don‟t think we‟ll
make it. This kite is so light any breeze could knock us
off course. I‟d rather take my chances on dropping into
the water than to smash into a house or something.”
“You‟re right!” Scotty said. “Well, give me the word
75
and I‟ll climb out.”
Rick watched the horizon move slowly around.
Fortunately, he had leveled off before banking. The
plane had maintained altitude.
“Get set,” he said.
Scotty pushed the door open, using plenty of muscle
to force it out against the wind.
The compass settled on due north. “Now,” Rick
called. His voice shook.
Scotty swung out, his knuckles white as he gripped
the door. His body had a tendency to fly back in the
wind, but he hunched forward until he had both feet on
the diagonal strut that ran from wing to undercarriage.
Rick reached into the luggage compartment behind
him, got a steel stake, and pushed it into the crack of the
door just above a hinge. The door stayed open. But the
plane swerved as the wind struck the door and Rick had
to move quickly across the cabin and work the rudder
trim tab until they were flying straight again.
The breeze sweeping in through the door was cold,
but both boys were sweating.
Seaford passed underneath. Rick sat upright and
watched for Spindrift.
Scotty was holding on for dear life, but he was in a
more comfortable position now, one arm locked tight
around the door frame. He had taken the precaution of
lowering the window before opening the door.
Why had the controls locked? Why? Rick knew he
had tested them. Such testing was automatic. Besides,
they had taken off all right. Going into the bank had
76
locked them somehow. He tried the rudder pedals again
and thought they moved the smallest bit.
Brendan‟s Marsh was below. They were on course.
Rick went over a plan in his mind. He had just under
eight hundred feet to lose, using the elevator trim tabs.
He knew perfectly well that he would never make the
field at Spindrift. The margin was too close. But if he
could gauge it to land in the water right off Pirate‟s
Field, they should be able to crawl out with a whole
skin.
There was only one small joker. To make a full stall
landing in the water, he would have to get the tail down.
That took elevator control. Also, he couldn‟t even try it
with Scotty holding on outside the plane. Scotty would
have to come in. That meant the plane would hit the
water with one wing low, which in turn meant disaster.
Spindrift loomed ahead on the horizon. Rick worked
the tabs and the plane started letting down in a very
shallow dive. He throttled back a little.
Scotty raised his eyebrows. Rick bent toward him and
yelled, “Be ready to get inside in a hurry when I tell
you.”
Scotty nodded. His face was red from the wind, but
he was grinning. Rick thought his pal would probably
grin into the faces of a firing squad if it ever came to
that. It wasn‟t far from it now. The crack-up, when it
came, would be like driving head on into a stone wall at
high speed.
The altimeter registered the loss of altitude. They
were down to five hundred feet and still losing. But
77
Spindrift was coming closer. Rick began to worry. Had
he started down soon enough? He sighted along the nose
of the plane. No doubt of it, he was overshooting.
He pulled back on the throttle and the nose dropped.
Scotty grinned at him.
The altimeter read three hundred feet.
Scotty‟s nerve was good, Rick knew. He shifted plans
slightly and motioned to his pal to go out as far as he
could. Scotty took a firm grip on the door with one hand
and leaned far out. The plane banked a little, out to sea.
Rick helped the move with the rudder tabs. Then, when
they were about 30 degrees away from land, he called:
“Scotty! Come on in!”
Scotty‟s teeth were chattering and his lips were blue.
“Now what?” he asked.
Rick was back in his own seat, and the plane was
banking in toward land, but very slowly. “If I‟ve figured
it right, we should come in parallel to Pirate‟s Field.
When I give the word,” he instructed, “you hop into the
luggage compartment. Keep on your own side, because
I‟ll be there with you. We‟ve got to get the tail down if
we want to come out of this.”
“Got it,” Scotty said coolly.
They weren‟t banking fast enough. Rick moved the
aileron trim tabs back to normal and increased the angle
of turn. He saw with satisfaction that they would make
it.
The plane was low over the water now, so low that
the altimeter was no longer trustworthy. Rick estimated
about fifty feet. Spindrift was dead ahead. They had
78
banked out and then banked back and the plane was
approaching it from the sea.
“We‟ll just miss the end of the island,” Rick said with
false calmness. This was going to be rough!
The plane was settling toward the water rapidly. From
the corner of his eye, Rick saw the cliff at the southwest
corner of Spindrift flash past.
“Here we go I.” he yelled.
Scotty was gone in a dive, into the luggage
compartment.
Then Rick cut the throttle, jerked back on the wheel
with all his strength, and felt something give. He turned
and went headlong into the luggage compartment,
landing in Scotty‟s lap just as the plane smashed into the
water.
There was an instant of whirling chaos as the plane
gyrated and water flew. Rick thought he heard the crack
and splintering of wood, metal, and fabric, then his
forehead bounced off something and he sank back, limp.
79
CHAPTER VIII
Fifty Frantic Seconds
The Cub struck the water with one wing low. The wing
hit first, whirling the small plane around, pulling the
nose into the water. During the instant before the
propeller snapped, the engine was barely turning over
because Rick had cut the throttle but had not killed the
ignition. As the propeller gave, the engine raced wildly,
the broken propeller shafts dragging the plane into the
water like a motorboat screw. Then the engine was
drowned into silence, leaving the plane standing nose
down, with one wing off and the other dragging.
Rick had been dazed by the impact but not knocked
out. He lay across Scotty, limp, his head ringing. Cold
water brought him to full consciousness and he began to
struggle. A giant bubble broke loose and raced through
the open window, taking most of their air with it. Rick
fought his way headfirst to the door, and struggled to get
through the window. Then he realized that Scotty was
80
not moving!
Water poured into the cabin, knocking him sideways
with its force. There hadn‟t been time to be afraid. Now
a touch of panic gripped him and he kicked violently
against the instrument panel, forcing himself back into
the luggage compartment. His groping hands felt
Scotty‟s jacket. He took a firm grip and heaved, his feet
braced. The plane was almost entirely under water, but
some air remained trapped in the cabin.
Scotty‟s body shifted but didn‟t come forward. Rick
tugged again, desperation in his arms. He didn‟t realize
he was yelling his pal‟s name until water surged up to
his lips and he gulped a great, salty mouthful. He
gagged, then gasped for air, lifting his head high. The
cabin was almost full of water now as the remaining air
seeped out. He fought to pull Scotty loose, using his legs
for leverage. He shifted to get a better grip and one foot
smashed through the Plexiglas windshield and caught
fast.
In sudden panic he kicked violently, trying to free his
foot. The Plexiglas tore a great furrow in his leg and the
water was suddenly cloudy with blood, but the foot
came free. His groping hands found the back of the seat
and he pulled himself upward. Holding with one hand he
found Scotty‟s belt and gave a heave that used most of
his strength. Scotty came out of the luggage
compartment and floated down on top of Rick.
There was no air left. Rick fought free and began to
let the breath out of his lungs in tiny driblets. He tried to
move Scotty headfirst through the window, but the boy‟s
81
legs caught in the control column. Despairingly, Rick
realized that he didn‟t have breath left to do any more.
His hands caught the window frame and he pulled
himself outward, tangled for a terrible moment with the
wreckage of a strut, and then shot to the surface. He
reached it as the last of his air gave out.
As he sucked in fresh air greedily, he caught a
glimpse of men running toward the beach, then he
surface dived, grabbed the fuselage of the plane, and
pulled himself downward. Only the tail surfaces were
above the water now.
The trailing strut struck him across the chest. He
grabbed it and used it for additional leverage, dragging
himself downward toward the cabin.
He had to get Scotty! He had to! He forced himself to
think calmly as he fought his way toward the cabin door.
Get the door open! That was it!
He kicked frantically and felt the Plexiglas of the
window behind the luggage compartment. His eyes
weren‟t working well. Now that he needed desperately
to see what he was doing, his eyes kept blurring. He felt
for the cabin door, found it, then fingered his way back
to the door handle. It turned easily, but the door
wouldn‟t open!
He put both hands on the handle, then braced his feet
against the side of the plane. One foot tore through the
fabric, but the other hit a structural member and held.
The door flew open, propelling him backward. He saw
the broken strut sliding past and grabbed at it, held fast,
then heaved himself forward again.
82
The open door loomed blackly ahead. He had a clear
view for an instant, then his vision fogged again. His
groping hands touched cloth, then hair. He gripped the
hair with all his strength and pulled back. Scotty came
out of the cabin headfirst, feet and arms trailing limply.
Rick got an arm around his pal‟s chest and began to
kick his way upward. He was almost out of breath, his
head roaring. He let the breath out in tiny bubbles, legs
and one arm flailing, face upturned to the surface. He
could see light above, and then it got cloudy again. He
knew there was a long way to go.
The pressure in his chest was unbearable. He let out
air a little faster and increased his kicking. Scotty was a
dead weight, dragging them down. Rick‟s free arm
drove downward in steady but weakening strokes, and
there was a redness in front of his eyes. He let out the
last of the air from his lungs in an effort to decrease the
pressure and blackness closed in. He kept struggling
upward, fighting the terrible urge to breathe, feeling
consciousness slip from him.
Something grabbed him, shot him violently to the
surface. Fresh air flooded into his tortured lungs and he
opened his mouth wide, gasping. He opened his eyes and
light struck his eyeballs painfully. He was dimly
conscious of pressure under his chin, forcing his head
back. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Weakness
had him. He couldn‟t move or even think.
He knew that he was moving, but he didn‟t know
how, nor did he think about it until sand grated under
him. Then he remembered and yelled, “Scotty!”
83
“He‟s all right,” Hobart Zircon‟s deep voice said.
“Easy, Rick. I‟ve got you.” The big scientist picked him
up bodily and carried him to the parched grass of
Pirate‟s Field. At the same instant, Hartson Brant strode
from the water with Scotty slung over his shoulder.
“Rick‟s all right,” Zircon said.
Hartson Brant snapped, “Scotty isn‟t.” He put the boy
face down on the grass, turned his head to one side, felt
in his mouth for obstructions, then pulled his tongue
forward. Kneeling with one leg between Scotty‟s thighs
and the other outside, he began artificial respiration. A
little water gushed from Scotty‟s mouth and there was a
gurgle as air rushed in on the release.
Rick lay unmoving, still gasping for air. He couldn‟t
see what was going on next to him.
For perhaps two minutes the scientist kept up his
rhythmic motion, then he looked up at big Hobart
Zircon. “He‟s breathing.” Hartson Brant‟s voice was
quietly triumphant. He changed the rhythm to
correspond with Scotty‟s breathing and in a few
moments the boy groaned.
The two men watched with anxious faces as Scotty‟s
breathing grew less spluttery and finally almost normal.
Then they went over him for broken bones. Finding
none, Hobart Zircon lifted him in a fireman‟s carry and
started with long strides for the big house.
Mrs. Brant had remained in the house long enough to
call a doctor and to get Tony Briotti underway to the
mainland in one of the speedboats. Dr. Shannon, who
had started to the beach with the two scientists, was
84
intercepted and sent back to the lab for the first-aid kit.
With everything prepared, Mrs. Brant ran to the beach
just as Zircon lifted Scotty. She got to his side in time to
see Scotty open his eyes. It was typical of the ex-Marine
that his first almost inaudible, gasping words were
“Mom, you‟re upside down!”
Mrs. Brant kissed him briefly, told Zircon to put him
to bed, then hurried to Rick‟s side.
Things were making a little more sense to Rick now.
He tried to sit upright. “Where‟s Scotty?”
“He‟s all right, Son,” Hartson Brant replied. “Zircon
is taking him to the house.”
Mrs. Brant‟s face had gone white at the sight of
Rick‟s bloody leg, but she said calmly, “Lie down, Rick.
I want to take a look at you.” She motioned to Shannon
who was running toward them with the first-aid kit, then
pulled Rick‟s torn trouser leg aside.
The wound was long and deep, but not serious, and it
was already clotting.
“We won‟t disturb it,” Mrs. Brant decided. “Howard,
let me have the scissors.”
Dr. Shannon produced them from the kit. Rick‟s
mother cut the trouser leg away completely, then said to
his father, “We must carry him. I think an army cot
would do. Don‟t you have one in the lab?”
“No need,” the scientist replied. “We‟ll use the three-
man lift and carry. You take his head, dear. I‟ll be in the
middle and Howard can take his legs.”
Under the scientist‟s direction, they knelt in a row at
Rick‟s side, lifted him to their knees, then picked him
85
up. He was rapidly coming back to full consciousness. “I
can walk,” he protested.
Hartson Brant grinned at him. “I‟d hate to see you
try.”
Mrs. Brant said gently, “Be quiet, Rick. You can talk
when we get you settled comfortably.”
The new families had gathered a few moments after
the crash, but Hartson Brant waved them away. Too
many people could cause more confusion than aid, he
knew. Now he called to them, “Both boys are fine.
Thanks for wanting to help.”
As they carried Rick upstairs, Barby hobbled out onto
the landing. She was pale but composed until she saw
Rick smile feebly at her, then she broke into tears.
“Just like a woman,” Rick teased huskily. He looked
up at his mother. “Except you, Mom.”
There was pain in his leg now, and his head throbbed
mightily. He was glad to feel the bed under him as they
put him down, and glad to have his father remove his
wet clothes. Mrs. Brant hurried off to get clean sheets
and blankets.
Hartson Brant inspected him from crown to sole.
“Bruises,” he announced. “You‟ll be sore tomorrow.
One lump the size of a golf ball right above your nose,
and one cut leg. Otherwise you‟re all right.”
“How‟s Scotty?” Rick asked. His voice had a
tendency to gurgle when he talked.
Scotty answered for himself from his own room. “I‟m
okay. You all right?”
Rick shivered at the weakness in his friend‟s voice.
86
“All okay.” He said huskily, “Dad, if you hadn‟t come . .
.”
“We‟ll talk about it later,” Hartson Brant said. “I hear
a boat. It must be Tony returning with the doctor.”
Zircon‟s voice boomed from the next room where he
was undressing Scotty. “A fine thing! An island full of
doctors and not a doctor of medicine among us! Hartson,
I‟m going to study for a medical degree.”
In a short time the physician was inspecting the boys
for hidden damage. “Nothing serious,” he stated. “That
cut on Rick‟s leg will force him to be quieter than he
likes for a few days, but that‟s all. A plane crash, you
say? I‟d say you have two very lucky youngsters here,
Hartson.”
Rick winced as the doctor swabbed his leg with
antiseptic, then clamped the edges of the wound
together. Sterile gauze was put in place and the leg was
bandaged expertly. The doctor searched his bag and
came up with a bottle of tablets. He measured out a half
dozen and put them in an envelope. “Two each before
they go to sleep,” he directed. “Just to ensure a good
night‟s rest. Rick, come in to see me day after
tomorrow.”
“How long do I have to stay here?” Rick asked.
“No longer than you need to,” the doctor replied.
“Why? Do you feel like going out for a hot game of
football?”
“Maybe tomorrow,” Rick said, grinning.
“I thought so. No, I suggest you stay in bed for the
rest of the day. You can do as you like tomorrow,
87
although I don‟t think you‟ll feel like doing much.”
The doctor snapped his bag shut. “This is like old
times, Rick. Haven‟t had to sew you up recently, have I?
Rut a few years ago, before you got old and wise and
started high school, I used to think that I should buy a
sewing machine, just to keep you in repair. I do believe
I‟ve put enough stitches in you to make myself a suit.”
“You did a good job,” Rick said, smiling. “I‟ve hardly
a scar that shows.”
“Well,” the doctor said, “it wasn‟t for lack of trying.
Hartson, I don‟t think you‟ll need me except to dress
Rick‟s leg in a couple of days, and he can come in for
that. Will someone run me back to the mainland?”
“Briotti will,” Hartson Brant replied. “I‟ll stay here
and help Rick get into pajamas.”
The doctor hurried away, stopping long enough to
look in on Barby.
Rick sat upright and slipped into a pajama coat, then
swung his feet to the floor and got into his pajama
trousers. He started to walk to his leather armchair and
would have fallen except for Hartson Brant‟s steadying
hand. He hadn‟t realized he was so weak.
Mrs. Brant changed the bed, which was wet with sea
water, then she kissed Rick and hurried in to do the same
for Scotty.
Scotty appeared in the connecting doorway, supported
by Hobart Zircon.
For the first time, Rick noticed that both his father
and Zircon were shoeless and dripping wet. Zircon sat
Scotty on Rick‟s bed, then said, “Hartson, let‟s change
88
these clothes. Then we can find out what happened. I‟m
bursting with curiosity.”
The boys looked at each other and grinned weakly as
the scientists went away to change. They shook hands
silently.
“What happened?” Scotty asked. “I was knocked out.
I came to draped over Zircon‟s shoulder like a bag of
sand.”
“I got knocked around, too,” Rick answered. “I got
loose and tried to get you out. I made it, but I couldn‟t
get you to the surface. If Zircon and Dad hadn‟t been
there, we‟d both have had it.”
“I came close a couple of times while I was in the
Marines,” Scotty said, “but nothing like this. I guess
we‟re both living on borrowed time now.”
Rick shuddered. “Both of us,” he agreed. “And I
don‟t want to have to do any more borrowing!”
89
CHAPTER IX
A Better Rattrap
“Rise and Shine,” Scotty commanded.
Rick opened his eyes and looked up. He had been
awake for some time, but just hadn‟t felt like making the
effort to get out of bed. “How do you feel?” he asked.
Scotty shrugged. “To be frank, I‟ve had better days.”
Rick sat up too fast and let out a grunt. His backbone
had felt like the cracking of bamboo. “I see what you
mean,” he said. More carefully, he swung his legs over
the side of the bed, braced with his hands, and heaved
himself to his feet. For a moment the room swayed, and
he plopped back down on the bed again.
“I thought I was getting feeble in my old age,” Scotty
joked. “Now I can see I‟m not the only one. Try it
again.”
Rick did so, and his knees clicked like pennies
dropping on marble. Now that he was upright, he began
to ache all over. “The doctor wasn‟t kidding when he
90
said I wouldn‟t feel like a game of football,” he said
wryly.
“You look like a game of football,” Scotty replied
critically. He stared at Rick‟s eyes. “Like the day after.
You have the loveliest pair of black eyes I‟ve seen in a
long while.”
That accounted for his cloudy vision the day before,
Rick thought. He must have had quite a knock on the
forehead.
“A hot shower will take some of this stiffness away,”
he said.
“Did mine,” Scotty agreed. “You shower and I‟ll
make a safari downstairs. Just to let Mom know we‟re
up in time for breakfast. But be careful of that cut leg.”
The hot shower helped. Rick felt almost human as he
dressed and went downstairs. Scotty and Barby already
were having breakfast.
“Three invalids,” Barby said. “Two bad legs and . . .
what do you have, Scotty?”
“Gravel in the gizzard,” Scotty answered. “Every time
I talk it feels as though I were talking through a bushel
of sand. What causes that, Rick?”
“You swallowed a lot of water, and I guess you
breathed in some,” Rick told him. “Don‟t put any salt on
your eggs. You‟ve had enough to last for weeks.”
Scotty finished his bacon and eggs. “Come on. Get
that breakfast down. I‟m anxious to find out why we got
into this particular mess. I want to know what happened
to the Cub.”
So did Rick. He had been so glad to get out of the
91
crash alive that he hadn‟t thought much about the loss of
his plane. Realizing that he would never fly his beloved
Cub again made him choke up so, he was glad to hear a
scratching at the door. It distracted the others, so they
couldn‟t see how he felt.
Scotty went to the door and let in a shaggy little dog.
Barby snapped her fingers. “Come on, Diz. I‟ve finished
my breakfast, but you can have Rick‟s.”
“Here I need all my strength and you give my
breakfast to the pup,” Rick growled. But he wasn‟t
serious. He took the best piece of bacon from his plate
and gave it to Dismal. The pup sat down, studied the
bacon for a moment, then gave a wild leap and gulped it
without even trying to chew.
“He‟s starved,” Barby said sympathetically. “Aren‟t
you, Diz?”
Dismal, pleased with the attention, rolled over and
played dead. It was his only trick and he never missed a
chance to show off.
Mrs. Brant‟s voice from the kitchen was suspicious.
“Rick, are you feeding Dismal at the table again?”
“Just a little, Mom,” he answered. “He‟s hungry.”
Mrs. Brant appeared in the doorway with a fresh
platter of bacon and eggs. “He‟s always hungry,” she
said with complete truth. “I‟ll feed him in a few minutes.
Scotty, here are more eggs for you. I think you‟d better
have a heavy breakfast this morning. You‟ll feel better.”
“I feel fine,” he assured her. “But I‟ll eat, anyway.”
“Who‟s always hungry?” Rick demanded. He grinned
at his mother. “How do you like my new facial scenery,
92
Mom?”
Mrs. Brant smiled. “I‟m glad I looked in on you
before you woke up. Having two eyes like that appear
without warning at breakfast would be rather a shock.
Are you sure you feel well enough to be up?”
“I‟m fine. Honestly, Mom. And we‟re both anxious to
find out what happened to the plane.”
Mrs. Brant paled a little. “I am, too, Rick. You know
I‟ve never worried about your flying. Very much,
anyway. I knew you were careful. I won‟t start worrying
now, either, but I would like to know that what
happened yesterday won‟t happen again.”
Rick smiled grimly. “It won‟t, if I have anything to
say about it.”
Hartson Brant arrived in time to hear the last
exchange. “I took a walk down to the beach, Rick. The
Cub has shifted out to sea a little, but the tide is out and I
can see the tail clearly. I think we‟d better get Huggins
to bring the tractor over. We can put a rope around the
tail and haul the plane out of the water fairly easily.”
“I hope there‟s enough left to tell us what happened,”
Scotty said.
“The plane‟s all there but the wings,” Rick assured
him. “Did you see the wings, Dad?”
“No. Are you sure the wings aren‟t still on?”
Rick remembered definitely that one wing was
missing. The strut had been loose and the wing itself was
gone. He wasn‟t sure about the other. But he had the
impression that both wings were gone. It made him
heartsick to think about it.
93
“I just remembered, Rick, that Jerry Webster called
last night after you were asleep,” his father said. “I
didn‟t give him any details, except to say the controls
had locked. Just said you had crashed off Pirate‟s Field.
He‟ll want more details for the Morning Record, though.
Will you call him?”
“Soon as we find out what happened,” Rick agreed. “I
want to give him a definite reason for the crash. No use
letting the folks in Whiteside think I‟m a bum flier.”
“They won‟t think that,” Mrs. Brant said firmly.
“We‟ve had a dozen calls since last night, and they all
want to know what happened to the plane. Not one
thinks it was your fault.”
Scotty finished his second helping and carried his
plate to the kitchen. When he returned he asked, “Will
your leg stand up to a walk, Rick?”
“I think so,” Rick said. “It feels stiff, but I can use it.”
He had taken his shower in the most awkward manner
possible, holding his bandaged leg outside the shower
curtain with a towel wrapped around his knee to keep
water from running down. He had succeeded in keeping
the bandage pretty dry, but the bathroom generally had
suffered. Water had dripped from the protecting towel to
the floor. He remembered that he had forgotten to tell his
mother that the floor was wet. He told her now,
apologizing for the mess.
Mrs. Brant sighed. “It‟s all right, Rick. But haven‟t
you ever heard of a sponge bath?”
“I forgot,” he admitted. “All I could think of was
getting under some hot water. I didn‟t even think about
94
the leg until I had the water fixed just right and got out
of my pajamas.”
Barby shook her head. “That‟s the trouble with men,”
she complained. “They don‟t know how to be graceful
patients. Come on. I‟m going to the beach with you. We
can limp together, Rick.”
Hartson Brant got Huggins, the island farmer, on the
phone. He issued instructions and then joined the boys.
“I‟ll get Hobart Zircon, too. He‟ll be able to help.”
“Who‟s going to put a rope around it, Dad?” Rick
asked. “I can‟t go in the water, and I don‟t think Scotty
should, either.”
“You‟re right,” the scientist agreed. “I must be getting
absent-minded. You three go ahead and I‟ll get into
bathing trunks.”
They stopped at the laboratory and picked up Zircon.
Shannon and Briotti stopped their work, too, and joined
in the walk to the beach. As the group reached Pirate‟s
Field, Huggins was just driving the tractor out of the
woods. It was a light tractor, built especially for small
farms.
Rick could see the Cub clearly through the green
water. The tail was just below the surface. It would be an
easy matter to slip a noose around it. The change of tides
during the night had moved the plane about fifty yards in
the direction of the open sea.
The others talked about the smashup, but Rick said
nothing. He just didn‟t feel like talking. Sight of the
wreck had brought back vividly the few seconds after
the crash. Rick had thought minutes had passed, but his
95
father assured him that he probably had been under
water for less than two minutes in all. The second time
he had gone down, after surfacing to breathe, he had
been under for about fifty seconds. Certainly it was less
than a minute. Shock and panic had speeded up time.
Normally, he could hold his breath under water for more
than a minute.
Hartson Brant came through the woods, dressed in
trunks. He talked with Huggins, then took a rope the
farmer had brought and fashioned a noose. He slipped
one arm through the noose and waded into the water.
Within two minutes he was ashore again, the noose
secured around the tail of the plane. Huggins,
meanwhile, had tied the shore end firmly to the back of
the tractor. He climbed into his seat, and at a signal from
the scientist he took up the slack in the rope and started
ahead. The watchers lost sight of the Cub in the murky
cloud that rose from the bottom. Little by little the
tractor moved ahead until the tail emerged. In a moment
the Cub was moving slowly up onto the beach.
It was a sorry sight. Both wings were gone. The
propeller was only two jagged stumps. The windshield
was broken where Rick had put his foot through the
Plexiglas, and it was torn away in other places. The
fabric was ripped and the undercarriage was bent back at
an angle that showed something was badly damaged.
Rick swallowed hard.
Bar by squeezed his arm. “We‟ll get another Cub,”
she whispered. “I‟ve saved a little money from my
allowance, Rick. You can have it.”
96
Rick was touched. He knew Barby had no real idea of
the cost of a plane. All she could save if she kept her
entire allowance wouldn‟t buy a new prop. He ruffled
her hair. “Thanks, Sis,” he said. “Thanks.”
Her generous offer made him feel better. He walked
to the plane as the tractor hauled it high above the beach
and looked into the cabin. It was a mess. He didn‟t wait
for the farmer to unhitch the rope. He leaned in and tried
the control wheel. It moved easily. He looked back at the
tail in disbelief and tried again. Except for the rope,
nothing blocked the movement of his tail surfaces.
“But they were locked!” he exclaimed.
“Possibly whatever locked them came apart when you
hit, Rick.” Hobart Zircon boomed; “I think we had better
start tracing the cables from the cabin back to the tail.”
There was a hail from the edge of the woods. Rick
looked up to see Jerry Webster and Gus, the airport
manager. He shouted a greeting. If the trouble could be
found, Gus would find it.
The two ran up to the group and shook hands all
around. Jerry said, “I hoped we‟d be in time. I knew
doggone well you‟d be looking for trouble first thing this
morning.”
Gus growled, “Thought you knew better than to try
landing on water. You a pilot or a duck?”
Rick grinned. “Anyway, I don‟t chase girls in a
plane.”
Gus had cracked up the year before, trying to avoid a
girl who walked across the runway just as he was putting
his plane down. He had ground-looped and broken an
97
arm. Rick had kept up the joking belief that Gus had
been trying to chase the girl off the field.
“I was trying to spoil her hair-do,” Gus retorted.
“Well, what we waiting for? Or do you know what
jammed your controls?”
“How do you know the controls jammed?” Barby
demanded.
Gus pulled a Whiteside Morning Record from his
pocket and handed it to her. “Read all about it in the
Daily Bleat,” he told her. “Compliments of the author. J.
Webster, that is.”
Scotty cracked, “Got your facts right for once, Jerry?”
Jerry looked pained. “I only write fairy tales when
news is dull. Like Gus says, what are we waiting for?
The Press is anxious to get at the Truth.”
“You take over, Gus,” Hartson Brant invited. “Where
should we start looking?”
The airport manager took a jackknife from his pocket.
“First thing is to get the fabric off. No use trying to save
it. Unless I‟m getting blind, this plane will never fly
again. The entire frame is twisted.”
Rick winced as Gus stuck the knife into the unbroken
fabric in front of the tail and ripped a long gash. He
walked along, letting his knife tear the stiff covering.
When he was right in back of the cabin window, he put
the knife away, took the fabric in both hands, and jerked.
It ripped away in big strips. Zircon helped, and in a
moment the side of the fuselage was bare.
Gus reached in through the naked tubular ribs and
took the cables which controlled the tail surfaces in his
98
hand. He pulled, and the elevators responded. “They
work,” he said. “Whatever jammed them must have just
come loose.” Rick joined him as he walked from tail to
cabin, looking at the cables.
Suddenly Gus bent down and touched a square block
of wood.
“What‟s that?” Rick asked. He had never seen it
before.
“I‟ve heard of termites in planes,” Gus said. “But
never rats. When did you start having rat trouble?”
The group crowded around. There was no mistaking
the object attached to the plane. It was a common rat-
trap.
Rick stared, puzzled. The trap was wired to a piece of
metal which was hinged on one of the structural
members. The metal had been a small door, an
inspection port, located just behind the cabin. It was at
the point where all control cables from the control
column passed before separating. From that point, the
tail cables went back along the fuselage and the aileron
cables ran up to the wings.
“Could that have caused the trouble?” Zircon asked.
Gus scratched his head. “I don‟t know how. The
cables pass right in front of it, close enough to touch it.
But I don‟t see how they could have caught on it.”
“It must mean something,” Rick objected. “I didn‟t
put it there, and I‟m sure Scotty didn‟t.”
Scotty shook his head. “Not me. Never saw it before.”
“What‟s that thing on a string in the bottom of the
plane?” Barby asked.
99
Gus followed her pointing finger, reached down into
the bottom of the fuselage where the fabric was untorn
and came up with a bolt which was tied to a piece of
heavy string. He handed it to Rick.
Rick took it, examined it, then handed it back. “Never
saw that before, either,” he said. “But it must have
something . . .” He stopped short as his eye caught a
broken end of string hanging from the topmost piece of
tubing in the frame. His eye estimated quickly. That
string was tied exactly on a line with the rattrap!
Yesterday, taking off, he had flown straight ahead,
climbing. When he reached a good altitude he banked
left, and the plane had refused to come out of it. The
controls had locked as he banked!
Words tumbled from him as he saw instantly, clearly,
what had happened.
“It was deliberate,” he choked. “Scotty, everybody, I
know why the controls locked. It was sabotage!”
100
CHAPTER X
The Missing Caretaker
Rick leaned over the plane and tied the bolt string to the
dangling piece. The bolt hung straight down. Then Rick
pried the rattrap open and set it.
“Watch,” he said grimly. He put both hands on the
bent frame and pulled it toward him. The bolt swung on
its string, straight toward the rattrap!
“That‟s how it was,” he said. “The controls worked
until we banked. Then the bolt swung down and hit the
trigger and the trap snapped shut, catching the cables.
The string broke, and I made it shorter when I tied it.
But you can see it was just long enough.”
He bent, picked up a twig from the brown grass, and
touched the trap trigger. It snapped shut, the stiff wire
pinioning the cables firmly. “I had to move the cables
out of the way to open the trap, if you remember,” Rick
said. “They‟re so close to the trap that the wire couldn‟t
miss.”
101
“But the bolt could have missed,” Hartson Brant
pointed out. “If you had been climbing or diving
slightly, it would have struck to either side of the trap.”
“I don‟t think it would have mattered,” Scotty
disagreed. “This kind of trap doesn‟t take much to
spring.” He reset the thing, then rapped sharply on the
outside of the metal inspection door. The trapped
snapped shut.
That was demonstration enough.
For a moment the group was silent, the same thought
in the minds of all. This had been deliberate attempted
murder!
“Who did it?” Barby asked weakly. “Rick, who
would do such a thing?”
There was only one possible answer. “It happened
after we took a look at the fun house. We were after the
car that hit you and Jerry, Sis. Looks like we found it.”
“We found it, and more,” Scotty said. “No one would
try murder to cover up a car theft, or even a hit and run.
At least I don‟t think so. There‟s more than that behind
this, and I think we‟d better have the State Troopers try
to find out what!”
“You‟re right,” Hartson Brant stated. “I‟m sorry we
didn‟t know this last night. Rick, we‟ll go back to the
house at once. Captain Douglas will want to know about
the details.”
The group started toward the house, but Rick lingered
with Gus. “Is it really done for?” he asked.
Gus nodded. “I‟m afraid so, Rick. We might salvage
the engine. I haven‟t looked at that yet, have you? But
102
the frame is too distorted for anything but complete
rebuilding. Where are the wings?”
“They must have floated off somewhere,” Rick said
dejectedly. “Let‟s go to the house, Gus. I‟m sick.
Cracking up was bad enough, but to find out it was
deliberate sabotage makes my stomach churn.”
Anger made him forget to favor his injured leg until
the pang of strained clamps reminded him sharply. He
slowed down a little. “I‟m going to get another plane,
Gus. Maybe I won‟t be able to pay cash for it, but the
insurance on this one will at least cover some of it. I‟ll
see if the Spindrift Foundation will put up cash for the
rest. I can pay them back sooner than I paid for the Cub,
because there are more scientists who want to be ferried
back and forth.”
Gus nodded. “Got the same kind of plane in mind?”
Rick didn‟t want another one just like the Cub. It had
been a wonderful little plane, but it had carried only two.
“I‟m thinking about a flying station wagon,” he said. He
named the make. “It will carry four, but it‟s not too big
for the island field.”
By the time they arrived in the library, Hartson Brant
already had the State Police captain on the phone and
had told him of the sabotage and the car at the
amusement park. “Here comes Rick,” he said.
Rick took the phone. “Hello, Captain.”
“I think we‟d better have a look at the amusement
park, Rick,” Captain Douglas answered. “Are you well
enough to come with me?”
“You bet I am,” Rick said swiftly. “And Scotty, too.”
103
“Meet you at the dock in ten minutes,” Captain
Douglas said. “You can tell me the details later.”
Rick agreed and hung up, then turned to Jerry. “How
did you and Gus get here?”
“We borrowed a boat,” Jerry said.
“We‟ll ride back with you. Scotty and I are going
with Captain Douglas to the amusement park.”
“I‟m going with you,” Jerry decided. “After all, I
have some interest in finding the jokers who wrecked
my car!”
Captain Ed Douglas was waiting at the dock when
they arrived. During the drive down the Shore Road,
Rick and Scotty took turns reciting their adventures in
„as much detail as possible. Then Rick described the rat-
trap device that had locked the Cub‟s controls.
After the recital, Captain Douglas sat in silence for a
while, thinking. Then he began to ask questions.
“Can you guess when the rattrap was planted?”
Scotty thought he could fix the time. “They moved
around a lot after we got back to the project, and we saw
lights by the gate. I think they sabotaged the plane then.”
“Was there time?”
“Plenty,” Rick said. “It couldn‟t have taken more than
a few minutes to fix the rattrap. All they had to do was
disconnect our warning horn and wire the trap to the
inside of the inspection port. Hanging the bolt was
easy.”
The captain nodded. “Smart. Very smart. They
decided to knock you two out, and they had to do it
quickly, with whatever was at hand. So they used a rat-
104
trap, a piece of string, and a bolt.”
“Wonder where they got the trap?” Jerry Webster
asked.
“That‟s not hard to figure out,” the captain replied. “If
men have been living there, they certainly would need
rattraps. The amusement park always was infested with
rats, probably because of the food that was sold.”
Scotty spoke up. “There‟s one thing. Whoever these
men are, they must know something about planes.
Otherwise they couldn‟t have figured a way to wreck us
so quickly. And they knew enough to disconnect the
warning horn.”
“You have a point,” Captain Douglas agreed. “We‟ll
remember that when we start hunting for them. You can
be sure they won‟t be at the amusement park.”
“Why?” Rick asked.
“Because they would know that the cause could be
found very easily, and that the finger of suspicion would
surely point to the amusement park. I think the answer is
revenge. They wanted to get you for some reason.”
That made sense to Rick, all right. “That means the
caretaker was a phony.” He told the captain of his call to
Mike Curtis. “No word yet, but I don‟t think we need
proof now.”
They passed the Seaford turnoff and in a short time
the gaunt skeleton of the roller coaster was in sight.
“Wonder what they were doing up on top last night?”
Rick mused.
“Could they have been setting up a signal of some
kind?” Jerry questioned in turn.
105
That was possible, Rick told him. He didn‟t have any
other answer to offer.
“Signals are for someone to see,” Captain Douglas
stated. “And I see no reason to signal to anyone on land,
not when they could get into the amusement park with
no trouble. Could these men have been signaling a boat
offshore?”
“Golly,” Scotty exclaimed, “that could be it! Do you
suppose we‟ve bumped into another smuggling case?”
“I don‟t know what you‟ve bumped into,” Captain
Douglas said frankly, “but I intend to find out.”
A patrol car was waiting on the highway in front of
the amusement park fence. As Captain Douglas and the
boys drew up behind the car, a trooper got out and
saluted the captain. “Nothing happening, sir.”
“Very well, Parks. Rick, where‟s this hinged board?”
Rick made his way through the tall grass. His leg was
hurting a little now. Scotty followed and they found the
hinged board and loosened the screws. Captain Douglas
slipped through, then two troopers, and the boys
followed.
“Haven‟t been in this place for years,” Jerry Webster
remarked. “I‟d forgotten what it looks like.”
Scotty pointed to the fun house. “There it is,
Captain.”
In front of the fun house, the State Police officer
stopped and surveyed the top of the roller coaster.
“Show me exactly where you saw the light.”
“It‟s hard to be sure,” Rick said. “It was pretty dark,
but I think we saw it right there at the highest point.”
106
The tracks rose to a high curve, then dipped again. At
the top of the curve the underside of the track was solid
boards. Elsewhere, there were boards with spaces
between, like railroad ties.
“Signaling,” Captain Douglas muttered. “There
doesn‟t seem to be any other possibility. But signaling to
whom?”
At the rear of the building Rick pointed to the cross-
piece that had given way under them. Captain Douglas
shook his head. “The way you kids take chances gives
me gray hair. If I hear of you pulling anything like this
again I‟ll put you in the cooler just to keep you safe.”
“It wasn‟t much of a chance,” Scotty objected. “We
were just unlucky. If the crosspiece hadn‟t given, the
men wouldn‟t even have known we were around.”
“If the crosspiece hadn‟t given,” Jerry repeated.
“Take a look at that structure! That‟s nothing but a
termite‟s lunch. I‟ll bet there isn‟t a sound timber in the
whole thing.”
“He‟s right,” Captain Douglas agreed. “Come on.
Let‟s go inside.”
The back door, which led into the room where the two
men had sat, was not locked. One of the troopers, hand
on pistol, pushed it open. He stepped inside, disappeared
for a moment, then came back to the doorway. “No one
inside, Captain. There‟s a car here.”
The rest followed him in. This was the engine room
for the fun house. Two huge electric motors, belts still in
place, were bolted to steel frames. At one side was the
big door, like a barn door, through which the car had
107
been driven. A pile of metal junk at one side of the big
room indicated that the back of the fun house had been a
general garage and storage place.
Two army cots were set up, blankets still in place.
There was a kerosene stove and a small stock of canned
goods.
Jerry pointed to a small break in the bottom of one
wall. Rick looked and saw a rattrap, set and waiting. The
men had the traps, all right. As Captain Douglas had
said, they used what they had on hand to wreck his
plane.
A state trooper already had the hood of the car up and
his flashlight working. As the second trooper took a list
from his pocket, he read off the serial number of the
engine.
The trooper with the paper called, “It‟s the maroon
sedan, Captain. Same engine number.”
Scotty had been searching through a cabinet. “I know
how they painted it, too,” he said suddenly. “Look here.”
He had found a small compressor, driven by a little
electric motor from which hung battery clips. A spray
gun stood near by. The car‟s own battery had provided
the power for spray painting.
Captain Douglas rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “This
is a permanent hide-out of some kind. It‟s too well
equipped to be anything else. Now we have to find out
who occupied it.”
The second trooper had been bending over the stove.
He joined Captain Douglas and said, “I‟m afraid there‟s
not much chance for fingerprints, sir. The stove has been
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wiped clean, and I‟ll bet the car has, too. All we can do
is hope they overlooked a few places.”
“We‟ll try, anyway,” Captain Douglas decided.
“Parks, go back to the barracks and get yourself an
outfit.” As the trooper hurried out, he turned to the boys.
“How about a conducted tour of the rest of the building?
Rick led the way through the mirror room into the
main part of the fun house. “Wish I didn‟t have a bum
leg,” he said. “I‟d like to try the slide.”
Captain Douglas looked the big room over. “What‟s
upstairs?”
“There used to be a dark labyrinth,” Rick told him. “I
don‟t remember anything else.”
“Let‟s take a look.” The captain led the way and the
boys followed him up the stairs to the landing. At the top
they found a small booth, just to the left of the stairs.
Inside the booth was a lever projecting from the floor.
Scotty tried the lever and the stairs ironed out to a slide.
He pulled the lever back and the slide became stairs
again.
“Go stand on the stairs and let me try it,” Scotty
suggested to Jerry.
The reporter grinned. “Not me. I‟m too old and
brittle. You stand on the stairs and I‟ll work the lever.”
Behind the booth, the roof slanted down sharply. Rick
saw light leaking through a crack and called the captain.
“There‟s a trap door of some kind in the roof.”
Douglas found the catch and threw it open. A short
distance away a ladder rose from the roof to the roller
coaster track. The captain got out onto the roof and took
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a closer look at the very top of the coaster, which was
perhaps fifty feet beyond the fun house.
“Nothing there,” he reported.
They closed the door and inspected the room that had
once been a mysterious, noisy labyrinth. The partitions
were still in, but the roof leaked light and the paint had
flaked off. By night it would still be a labyrinth. By day
it was merely an odd, dirty room.
“Nothing to be gained by hanging around here,”
Captain Douglas said. “Suppose we walk next door to
the project, Rick? I‟d like to see this thing you‟re
building. Besides, it‟s about lunchtime. Think we could
wrangle a bite to eat?”
“If you like beans,” Scotty said, grinning. “There isn‟t
a cook in the place, and beans and coffee are the only
things on hand.”
“In my youth,” Captain Douglas said, “I served in the
Marine Corps. I estimated once that I had probably eaten
about ten billion beans while I was in uniform. I think I
could eat a few more.”
Rick cautioned Jerry as they walked to the fence and
around the corner to the project. “We don‟t mind our
friends looking in on the project, but no stories, please.
We‟d rather not have any publicity.”
Weiss and Winston greeted the boys and the officer.
“We‟re making very good progress,” Weiss reported.
“There will be a preliminary test tomorrow sometime,
and perhaps we can make an outdoor test on the
following day, unless we run into unexpected difficulty.”
“Incidentally,” Winston added, “your father called,
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Rick. He said to tell you Mike Curtis had phoned. He
asked if you could meet him at the Whiteside landing at
nine tonight. He has something to tell you.”
Rick looked at Captain Douglas. “Mike has been
working on the amusement park ownership, I guess.
We‟ll meet him, Captain, then give you a call. This may
be a lead. If so, it will be our first one!”
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CHAPTER XI
Shots in the Dark
“I suppose it isn‟t really strange that those men should
leave a perfectly good car behind,” Barby remarked.
“After all, it wasn‟t their car.”
Rick grinned. “The owner is going to be surprised
when the police return it. He loses a maroon sedan and
gets a black one back.”
“I hope it isn‟t a girl who owns it,” Barby said.
The two boys and Barby were sitting on the front
porch of the big house looking at the ocean, waiting until
time for Scotty and Rick to go to the pier to meet Mike.
Scotty hadn‟t been paying much attention to the small
talk between Rick and Barby, but he looked up at her
last remark.
“Why do you hope it isn‟t a girl?”
“She probably picked all her clothes to go with the
color of the car,” Barby said seriously. “Now she‟ll
either have to have the car repainted or get a whole new
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wardrobe.”
The boys laughed so hard that Hartson Brant came
out on the porch to see what had happened. When Barby
repeated her remark, the scientist grinned. “I don‟t know
what all the laughter is about. That‟s a good theoretical
conclusion, based on empirical data.”
Rick lifted his eyebrows. “And just what is empirical
data?”
His father chuckled. “You‟ll find a dictionary in the
library.”
Scotty looked at his watch. “We have time enough for
a little research. I‟ll go look it up.”
While Scotty was gone, Hartson Brant asked, “Do
you feel well enough to go out tonight, Rick? I could go
to meet Mike for you.”
“Thanks, Dad,” Rick replied. “I‟m fine, honestly.”
“I knew you‟d get into trouble if you tried finding that
car,” Barby said.
Hartson Brant smiled. “More empirical data.”
“Now I‟m really getting curious,” Rick replied.
“What‟s keeping Scotty?”
Barby looked in through the front door. “Here he
comes now.”
Scotty was grinning. “Add a new word to the
vocabulary,” he told Rick. “Empirical means based on
observation and experience, rather than on science or
theory. In other words, it‟s the way girls reach
conclusions.”
“Well,” Barby said smugly, “if I may make an
observation, it‟s my experience that every time you two
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start to unravel a mystery, you get into trouble.” She
looked pointedly at Rick. “That may be empirical, but
it‟s true!”
“I can‟t deny it,” Rick said. “But this case has taught
me a lesson.”
“You mean you won‟t try to solve any more
mysteries?” Barby asked quickly.
“Not exactly,” Rick replied with a grin. “The lesson is
to be more careful and to invent a new warning system
for the next plane I get. One that can‟t be disconnected
by some smart guy like the one who sabotaged us.”
“Listen, Rick,” Scotty said with a glance at his
watch> “we‟d better get started. Mike should be arriving
in the next fifteen minutes.”
“I hope he has something that will give us a new
lead,” Rick said. “An empty amusement park isn‟t much
help to Captain Douglas. Chances are the caretaker and
his pal are out of the area by now in some other car.”
“I‟m afraid you‟re right, Rick,” Hartson Brant agreed.
“But every possibility should be explored. Ask Mike to
stay here tonight if he plans to stay over.”
The boys said good night to Barby and the scientist.
Rick patted Dismal, who had been asleep at Barby‟s
feet, and the two walked down the path to the landing
steps.
It was dark, with only a faint trace of sunset
remaining on the western horizon. Rick chose the
speediest of the island‟s two boats and asked Scotty to
take over. He was most comfortable with his leg
stretched out, and that wasn‟t possible in the driver‟s
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seat. He cast off the lines and got aboard as Scotty
started the engine. Then he relaxed as the other boy
backed out of the slip, spun the wheel, and started them
off toward Whiteside.
Scotty switched on the searchlight mounted on the
bow and a swath of white light showed them the water
ahead. He advanced the gas lever and the bow lifted with
the increased speed.
Rick spoke over the engine‟s roar. “It will be good to
see Mike again.”
Scotty nodded. “Even if he doesn‟t have much news.”
The run to Whiteside was a short one. Before long the
lights of the town were bright enough to make use of the
big searchlight unnecessary. Scotty cut the switch and
steered toward the string of lights that marked the dock
area. The small boat pier which they used was beyond,
and it had no lights.
A few other boats were tied up when they arrived, but
there was no one in sight. Scotty cut the engine as Rick
tied the craft to a cleat.
“We must be a little early,” Rick said. His voice
sounded loud in the sudden silence. “Might as well wait
right here.”
Scotty agreed and they sat in companionable silence,
waiting. A car came down the road toward Whiteside
but turned off before it reached the pier. The water
lapped gently against the side of the boat, and Rick
began to feel sleepy. Once he thought he saw someone
move across the shore end of the pier. It was too dark to
see details. He saw only a vague silhouette against the
115
glow from the city. He started to call out, then realized
that Mike would drive into the parking lot among the
trees that lined the water front at this point. He sank
back in the leather seat. Probably someone out for a
breath of cool sea air. It was a good night for it.
Car lights appeared from the direction of town. Rick
waited to see if the car was going to swing into the
parking area, or whether it was a casual passer-by going
along the water-front road toward the summer cottages a
half mile beyond.
The car slowed, passed the end of the pier, and swung
into the parking lot. Rick jumped to his feet and started
to yell a greeting, but the words clogged in his throat.
Scotty‟s grip on his arm told him his pal had seen the
same thing!
At the edge of the tree belt, on the water front a few
yards up from the pier, three men were crouching, and
the lights of the car had glittered from metal in their
hands!
Rick and Scotty acted instinctively, as a unit, in such
cases. Without speaking, they got to the pier, crouched,
and ran along it. At the end of the boardwalk was
crushed rock fill which anchored the inshore piles. They
reached it, scooped up rocks without stopping, and ran
toward the parking lot.
The car engine died and the lights switched off. Rick
yelled, “Mike! Watch out! Ambush!”
A gun barked spitefully ten feet away and Rick heard
a brief crack as something sailed past his head. He threw
a rock at the flash, a powerful overhand throw with his
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shoulder behind it. The rock landed with a meaty thud,
followed by a cry of pain. Scotty pulled Rick down as
three guns blazed.
For a moment Rick thought they were all shooting at
him. His mouth dried up and his tongue stuck to the roof
of his mouth. Then he realized the shots were aimed at
the parking area. The men were shooting at Mike!
He rose to one knee and started hurling rocks. Scotty
was right beside him. From somewhere in the trees,
Mike yelled, “Give it to them, guys!” A gun cracked
from the direction of the voice and Rick knew Mike was
shooting back.
An instant later there was silence. The three men had
realized that they were wasting their shots. That meant
they were jockeying for a better position.
Rick felt around, careful to make no noise, and
collected a few more rocks. Scotty was inching ahead on
his stomach. Rick followed. He felt sudden pain in his
injured leg as he dragged it over some obstacle. He bit
his lip. The three men would shoot at noise, he knew. He
didn‟t intend making any.
Scotty was a dim figure, moving slowly forward.
Rick kept his eyes on him, ready to take a cue from his
friend. He saw Scotty rise to one knee and saw his arm
move. A rock landed off to their left. Instantly guns
cracked as the unknown enemy fired at the sound.
Scotty had tossed the rock with his left arm. His ready
right arm flashed down in a strong throw and a lucky
one. The rock clashed with metal and one of the enemy
let out a strangled yelp. Something—Rick hoped it was a
117
pistol—clattered to the rocky ground.
And in that instant Mike Curtis switched on his car
lights.
The twin beams caught and blinded the three men.
They turned to flee from the revealing glare and ran
head on into a barrage of rocks hurled by Rick and
Scotty.
The boys were outside the glare of the headlights, but
they were only a dozen feet from the three men. And
two of the enemy were the caretaker and his pal!
Rick threw, and wild anger sped the rock straight to
its mark. These were the men who had tried to kill him
and Scotty! His rock caught the caretaker over the eye,
sent him reeling backward. Scotty‟s arm flashed down in
an overhand throw that had all his weight behind it. The
stone brought a groan from the caretaker‟s friend.
But the enemy wasn‟t taking it lying down. All three
were firing blindly at the rock throwers.
Rick and Scotty were past caring. They knew only
that here were the men who had tried to kill them, one of
them the driver of the hit-and-run car that had struck
Barby. They stood upright, anger giving accuracy and
weight to their throws. Rocks crashed into faces, chests,
and stomachs. The rocks bruised or brought blood, but
they couldn‟t land a knockout blow because the rocks
weren‟t heavy enough.
Mike Curtis was firing, too. Suddenly the third man
clutched at his arm and dropped his pistol.
Instantly the redheaded man who had been with the
caretaker let out a yell. “Get the lights!”
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As though on signal, the lights went out. Mike Curtis
had turned them off before the enemy could fire.
Scotty whispered hoarsely in Rick‟s ear. “I‟m out of
rocks and I can‟t find any. We‟d better retreat.”
Rick had only one left. With the lights out, he no
longer had a target. He started moving backward,
slowly, carefully, feeling for each footstep.
Now that the face-to-face fight was over, at least for
the moment, he realized how foolish he and Scotty had
been to stand up to guns while armed only with stones.
But he felt exultation. The gunmen had come off second
best!
So far! The fight wasn‟t over yet.
He backed cautiously, eyes peeled for movement in
front of him, until his foot grated on loose stones. Then
he knew he was at the pier once more. He stooped and
took a handful of stones. This time he rejected all but the
biggest. He filled his pockets with them, one at a time,
careful to make no noise.
Where were the gunmen? He lobbed a rock into the
air in the direction in which he had last seen them. He
listened carefully, and heard the rock bounce off a tree
trunk. There was no reaction.
Scotty was crouching next to him. Rick got down in a
crouching position, too, and felt sudden wetness as the
motion put too much strain on his leg. He had opened
the wound again. It hurt like the very dickens, too. He
gritted his teeth and tried to ignore it.
There was silence except for the lapping of the water
under the pier and the sound of a breeze high in the
119
trees. Somewhere in the darkness ahead men were
moving, or waiting. They had no choice but to wait it
out.
Rick grinned in the darkness. He had repaid part of
the debt. So had Scotty.
From the direction of town a siren wailed. Rick
stiffened. The police! Of course someone would have
heard the shooting and reported it.
There was a sudden crashing in the underbrush some
distance away.
“They‟re getting away,” Scotty said. He started off on
a run, and his foot crashed into a tin can someone had
left.
Mike Curtis‟ voice rose. “Stay where you are! Don‟t
try to follow.”
A gun shot answered him, and the flash was faint
through the trees. The gunmen had made good their
escape. Rick was sure of it when an engine coughed into
life and tires spinning on gravel marked the getaway car.
He and Scotty ran to the road to meet the oncoming
police car. Mike Curtis emerged from the trees and
joined them. The three shook hands.
“Fine reception committee you fixed up for me,”
Mike said. “I can tell you don‟t live in glass houses.” He
chuckled. “Not after seeing you throw those stones.”
The police car saw the three and skidded to a stop. An
officer leaned out. “Who‟s been shooting?”
“Go after them,” Mike snapped. “They headed up the
road. Not a minute ago. You may catch them if you step
on it.”
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“Not so fast,” the officer said. “Who are you?”
Rick stepped forward. “I‟m Rick Brant. Please hurry!
You might be able to catch them.”
The driver of the police car turned a flashlight on the
three. “Those are the kids from Spindrift, all right. Let‟s
go. Where can we find you when we get back?”
“State Police Barracks,” Rick said swiftly.
The police car shot ahead, siren wailing.
“Too bad we didn‟t see the car,” Scotty said. “We
can‟t even pass on a description to the road blocks.”
Rick had a sudden thought. “Who says we can‟t?
Listen, they‟re marked up plenty. Let‟s get to Captain
Douglas and he can radio a description of the men. The
road blocks can stop every car and look the occupants
over, can‟t they?”
Mike Curtis was already running for his car.
“You‟re right!” Scotty exclaimed. “Come on. We
may get them yet!”
121
CHAPTER XII
Lefty the Gonif
Rick sat in the comfortable armchair in Captain
Douglas‟ quarters at the State Police Barracks. His leg
was stretched out on another chair while the doctor,
brought to the barracks by a patrol car, repaired the
damage.
The doctor muttered while he worked. “Of course you
can keep this from healing very simply, Rick. It isn‟t
necessary to crawl over rocks. Just kick it against a door
now and then.”
Rick smothered a grin. The doctor was definitely
irritated. The state troopers had fetched him from a
movie—the first one he had been able to attend in
weeks, he said. When he finished, the leg was throbbing
like a sore tooth.
“There you are,” the doctor said. He added tartly, “If
you expect to crawl over any more rocks before that
heals, stop by my house first. My son has a pair of
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catcher‟s leg guards. I‟m sure he‟ll be glad to lend you
one.” He turned to Captain Douglas. “If you‟ll have me
returned to the theater, Ed, I may be able to get back to
my seat in time to see the villain caught.”
As he departed in company with a trooper, Captain
Douglas grinned at Rick. “You‟re not very popular with
the doctor. And I‟m not so sure you‟re popular with me.
You‟ve got blood all over my chair seat.” He went to a
bureau and opened a drawer, rummaged around and
found a pair of socks. “Here. Put these on.”
Rick‟s sock was saturated because his leg had bled
freely. His shoe was wet, too, but there was nothing he
could do about it. As he changed, Scotty described what
had happened. Mike Curtis paced the floor, adding
explanations from his point of view.
When the recital ended, Captain Douglas looked from
one to the other. “I think the big question is, why were
you attacked? Obviously these men didn‟t know Rick
and Scotty were there. So the attack must have been just
for you, Mike. And I‟d say they were interested only in
shooting you, not trying to kidnap you.”
Mike was big and blond, dressed in slacks and sports
jacket. The jacket was made to conceal the fact that he
carried a .38 in a shoulder holster. Rick knew he seldom
carried a gun, but tonight Mike had acted on a hunch.
“I didn‟t know anything about the hit-and-run car or
the amusement park,” Mike said, “until Rick and Scotty
gave me the details on the way here. I came down
because they asked me to find out about the present
ownership of the place and I found what seemed to me
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to be an interesting tie-in.”
“What was it?” Captain Douglas asked.
“The amusement park is owned by Soapy Strade‟s
brother-in-law!”
The boys gasped. Soapy Strade was the gang chief
who had escaped from prison the night they arrived from
Hong Kong, the one for whom the road blocks had been
set up.
Scotty whistled. “Don‟t tell me we‟ve been tangling
with his mob!”
“We‟ll soon find out,” Douglas stated. He pushed a
buzzer and a trooper came in. “Get me a picture of
Soapy Strade, Joe.”
The trooper was back in a few seconds. He handed
the picture to Captain Douglas who wordlessly passed it
to the boys.
Rick gulped. Talk about playing with dynamite!
Soapy Strade was the redheaded man with the big jaw
who had been in the fun house last night.
“You can add a mark on his left cheek,” Scotty said
shakily. “I smacked him solidly with a rock.”
Mike Curtis shook his head. “For years, really tough
guys try to nail Soapy with rods, knives, and submachine
guns, and then he runs into the Spindrift gang and gets
beaned with a rock! If I‟d known it was Strade and
company shooting at me from behind the trees I‟d have
been a much more careful citizen, and you can believe
that!”
“Maybe they‟ll catch him at the road blocks,” Rick
said hopefully.
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“I‟m afraid not,” Captain Douglas replied. “He‟s too
smart to get caught in a net, but I‟d better warn the Civil
Defense people and my own men that Strade is in this
area.” He buzzed again, gave instructions to the trooper,
then beckoned to the boys. “We have a rogues‟ gallery.
It isn‟t very big, but it has the best-known mugs from
this area. I want you to take a look. Maybe you can pick
out a few of Soapy‟s pals.”
Scotty spoke up. “There‟s a big question in my mind.
Mike, how did they know you were coming to White-
side? And how did they know where and when to lay for
you? And most of all, why did they want to get you?”
“I think I have the answers,” Mike told them. “First of
all, I found the dope about the amusement park in a real-
estate office where that kind of property is handled. A
girl in the office gave me the information, and as soon as
I saw the owner‟s name I got the connection. I muttered
something about Soapy Strade, and she must have heard
me. I didn‟t know what you two were up to, but I got
worried when I thought you were bucking Strade. So I
called Spindrift then and there and left a message. She
heard that, too. She‟s the only one who could have
tipped off Strade and company.”
“That doesn‟t tell us why they tried to get you,” Rick
objected.
“I think that‟s pretty obvious.” He waved his hand at
Rick and Scotty. “He tried to get you, didn‟t he? And for
the same reason. He didn‟t want his presence in this part
of New Jersey known. The search for him has been
mostly in New York. Isn‟t that right, Captain?”
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“Yes. I think you‟re batting a thousand, Mike.
Somehow he slipped through the net the New York
police had at the river and got into New Jersey. If he
hadn‟t plowed into Jerry and Rick‟s sister, he probably
could have hidden out indefinitely in the amusement
park.”
“But he knew that hide-out was no longer safe as
soon as we started to prowl around,” Rick pointed out.
“He had nothing to gain by wrecking the Cub and trying
to kill us.”
Captain Douglas smiled grimly. “Didn‟t he? You saw
him, didn‟t you? He had no way of knowing whether or
not you recognized him, but he probably felt it was
better not to take a chance. There‟s an old saying that
dead men don‟t talk.”
“I still say that wasn‟t reason enough to try to get us,”
Scotty stated.
“Soapy Strade doesn‟t need a reason,” Mike Curtis
said. “He‟s as apt to pull a gun on a man because he
doesn‟t like the color of his eyes as for any other reason.
You gave him cause enough just by making a little
trouble for him.”
“All right,” Rick agreed. “But that doesn‟t account for
his ambushing you. By the time you found out his
connection with the amusement park he had already
tried for us, and the amusement park was out, at least for
a regular hide-out.”
“There‟s something in what you say,” Captain
Douglas said. “I think we have only a part of the
answer.”
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Mike Curtis patted Rick on the shoulder. “Remember
I told you once I‟d give you a job any time you wanted
one? That still goes. I have to agree that we don‟t have
all the answers.”
“But,” Douglas said decisively, “we have enough for
some action. Let‟s get you started on the rogues‟ gallery
and I‟ll do something about spreading the alarm that
Strade is in our area.”
The rogues‟ gallery was on a series of circular files.
Each file had a number of leaves which contained
overlapping clear plastic folders. Each folder contained a
photo and a description.
“Are we supposed to go through all those?” Scotty
demanded. “Good night! There must be thousands.
“We‟ll be here for a month.”
“It‟s not as hard as you might think,” Captain
Douglas said. “Most of the photos won‟t look anything
like the men you want. You can rifle through them pretty
fast. Just start at the bottom and run your hand up. You
can see the photos as they fall back into place. If anyone
looks promising, you can take a closer look. Get started
while I put a message on the teletype and hand some
dope to the radio dispatcher. We‟ll have half the police
in New Jersey in this area by morning.”
Rick stared at the files. “I didn‟t think there were this
many criminals in the world.”
Mike Curtis grinned. “Good thing for me there are.
That‟s what keeps me in business. Listen, kids, I can‟t be
of any help here. I didn‟t get a good look at any of those
men.”
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“You going back to New York?” Scotty asked.
“No. I‟m going into business right here. Didn‟t you
know there‟s a fat reward for Soapy Strade? If I can
catch up with him, it‟s money in the bank for Michael
Curtis Investigations.”
“But you haven‟t even got a lead,” Rick objected.
“Sure I have. Listen, Soapy Strade and his pal
vanished from the amusement park. Somewhere, they
picked up another car and a third man. Correct? Now, I
can‟t believe they left the area after getting out of the
amusement park, because that would mean going by the
road blocks twice, once on the way out of the area and
once on the way back in. Those Civil Defense auxiliary
cops are thorough. Believe me, I know. They stopped
me on the way down and gave me a good, long look
before they passed me. They all have pictures or
descriptions of Soapy. He couldn‟t have gotten by
them.”
“So you think he‟s still around?” Scotty asked.
“Yes. I think he‟s holed up somewhere, maybe in one
of the summer communities. There are plenty of them
inside the road blocks. So I‟ll just float around and ask a
few questions and keep my eyes open. You never know
what will turn up.”
“Good luck,” Rick said.
“Thanks.” Mike said, smiling. “I shouldn‟t hold out
on you. I‟ve another angle, too. If Soapy was tipped off
by the girl in the real-estate office, it probably was by
phone. In fact, I don‟t see how it could have been
anything else. So Soapy is somewhere near a phone—
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and there is a record of the call somewhere. It had to be
a long-distance call from New York, remember.”
Mike had certainly figured out the angles. Rick
grinned his admiration. “I have an idea where you
should start.”
The private detective held up his hand. “Wait a
minute.” He took a notebook and pencil from his pocket
and wrote rapidly, then he tore the sheet out and slid the
paper face down across the cabinet on which Rick had
been leaning. “Tell me. Then take a look at the paper.
Let‟s see if we think alike.”
Rick eyed the paper dubiously. “Well, I‟d start at the
local phone company. There are no dial phones in this
area, so operators handle all the calls. I‟d find the
operators who were on duty this afternoon and talk with
them.”
Mike laughed. “Take a look.”
Rick turned the paper over and read: Find phone ops
on local board between noon and eight P.M. today.
“On the nose,” he said. “Maybe I‟ll take that job,
Mike.”
Mike Curtis winked at him and hurried out the door.
“There goes a sharp operator,” Scotty remarked. “I‟d
hate to have him on my trail.”
“Same here. Come on. Let‟s start through these
photos.”
Following Captain Douglas‟ advice, the work went
rapidly. Rick would put his hand under the bottommost
of the photos, which were hinged at the top, then move
his hand up slowly, letting the cards fall back into place.
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Now and then he saw a face that fit the general
description of one of the two men who had been with
Strade and stopped for a closer look.
It was interesting. He began to realize there was no
such thing as a criminal type of face. Every man in the
file had a police record of some kind. Some had served
prison terms. Others had gotten off. Others were listed as
wanted.
There were faces that could have belonged to every
known profession. Some were gentle, some were tough.
Most were just people.
Captain Douglas came in and asked, “Any luck?”
“Not so far,” Rick replied, and Scotty confirmed it.
They resumed the tedious work, stopping fifteen
minutes later for a cup of coffee with the captain. Then
they went at it again. Just as Rick had decided his leg
wouldn‟t take it much longer, Scotty let out a yell.
“Got one!”
Captain Douglas, Rick, and two troopers came
running.
Scotty pointed to a picture of the caretaker. He didn‟t
need a shave, and his hair was shorter, but there was no
mistaking the man.
Scotty read the description aloud. “George Blomer,
alias Lefty the Gonif.” He read off a physical summary
hurriedly and then continued. “Served ten years,
manslaughter, 1931. Freed on technicality ‟42 after
indicted for knife murder James Strep. Believed
implicated mass murder East River gang. Connected
Soapy Strade gang.”
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“Lefty the Gonif,” Captain Douglas said. “A
caretaker, no less! Well, he‟s taken care of more than a
few in his day, even if we can‟t prove it.”
That was a funny nickname. Rick asked its meaning.
“It‟s thieves‟ argot,” the state officer explained.
“Derived from the Yiddish for thief.”
Rick shuddered. “We walked right up to him,
claiming to be a couple of innocent neighbors looking
over the amusement park. I‟m glad I didn‟t know
anything about him then! My knees would have knocked
together so hard he‟d have thought I was playing
castanets with my toes!”
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CHAPTER XIII
The Tractosaur
Through the cities and countryside of eastern New
Jersey the hunt for Soapy Strade and Lefty the Gonif
was in full cry. Cars passing southward were stopped
once, twice, even three times as they reached road
blocks manned by Civil Defense or regular police.
In the area around Whiteside, state troopers patrolled
the roads, eyes open for any suspicious event, no matter
how insignificant.
Mike Curtis talked with the officers who had chased
the ambush car the night before, and with a phone
operator. Then he drew a circle on a map of the area,
procured a sample brush kit and became a salesman,
knocking on every door.
Jerry Webster and Duke Barrows, editor of the
Morning Record, spent so much time answering queries
from out-of-town papers that they had no time to cover
their usual beats.
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The Spindrift scientists were interested, of course, but
only casually. They had two projects underway, and at
least one, the building of the “thinking bulldozer,” was
urgent. That project was so near to completion that
Hartson Brant and Hobart Zircon dropped what they
were doing in order to help Winston and Weiss make the
final assembly.
Rick and Scotty slept late. The crash had taken toll of
both of them and they needed extra sleep to regain their
usual stamina. By the time they came downstairs for a
late breakfast, even Barby had been up for some time.
She was no longer limping, and only a discoloration
where her leg had been badly bruised remained of her
close call.
When the boys told her the identity of the man
responsible, her eyes opened wide. Barby listened to the
radio much more than they, and she could repeat tales of
Soapy Strade that they hadn‟t known.
“We‟ve made Barby‟s day for her,” Rick said as his
sister ran for the library. “She‟ll be on the telephone
from now on, telling all her friends about it. I‟d better
call Dad before she starts.”
The scientist was at the project. In a few moments
Rick had him on the phone. “This is Rick, Dad.”
“How do you feel?”
“Good. Is something up?”
Hartson Brant chuckled. “I‟ll say so. The highway is
crawling with police. A cruiser goes past on the average
of once every ten minutes. You certainly stirred up a
hornet‟s nest. However, that wasn‟t why I asked mother
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to have you call. We had a phone call this morning from
our . . . our sponsors. You understand?”
Rick did. That meant the Defense Department, or
maybe the Atomic Energy Commission. “I know what
you mean, Dad.”
“Fine. Well, they will have observers here to see a
test run tomorrow afternoon. They‟re in rather a hurry to
get the first model. That means work for all hands, and I
want to know if you and Scotty can finish the other
control units. If we have a full test it will take all the
units. They‟ll want to try transferring control from one
point to another.”
“We can do it, Dad. We have the stuff, and the silk
screen for the circuit and Scotty‟s templates for the case
are ready to use.”
“Good. Then come to work, and be ready to stay
late.”
Rick considered. Getting a ride to the project was
uncertain. “We‟ll come by boat, Dad. And we‟ll be
ready to stay over, if we have to. There‟s a lot of work
on those little things, and we‟re getting a late start.”
“Sure you feel up to it? How‟s the leg?”
“I‟ve got a leg,” Rick admitted. “But if I sit down it
won‟t bother me. It‟s only when I stand on it too long.”
“All right, Son. We‟ll look for you later.”
Rick hung up and went to the kitchen. Mrs. Brant had
eggs and ham almost cooked. Coffee was percolating
and there was toast browning in the automatic toaster.
In a short time the hearty breakfast had been
consumed, the boys had collected toothbrushes and a
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change of clothing, and were on their way to the project
by boat.
Again, Scotty was the pilot. The trip by boat would be
only a little longer than by car. Also, it gave them a
chance to get their thoughts straightened out.
“We‟ve got two unanswered questions,” Rick said.
He had to raise his voice to be heard above the roar of
the engine. “First, what was the meaning of the light on
top of the roller coaster? I‟m not satisfied with that
signaling theory. Captain Douglas pointed out that a
signal has to be to someone, and we have no evidence
Strade needed to signal anyone. The second thing is,
why did Soapy Strade ambush Mike Curtis? So far as I
can see, he didn‟t have a thing to gain.”
“Unless he was anxious to have his connection with
the amusement park kept secret a little longer,” Scotty
suggested.
“Then that raises a whole new question: Why?
There‟s a whole lot about this business we still don‟t
know.”
“Anyway,” Scotty answered, “we know more about
Soapy Strade. I got up before you did this morning and
listened to a morning newscast. The story‟s out that he is
in this area, and the announcer gave a lot of dope about
him. He‟s a wealthy man, I guess. At least he‟s credited
with some real big robberies, including a payroll stick-
up that netted close to a million. Of course little of it can
be proved. He was in jail on a charge of income tax
evasion as well as kidnapping.”
They passed a summer colony and Rick wondered
135
how Mike Curtis was doing. He hoped his friend would
win the reward, if anyone did.
A short distance below Seaford they saw the roller
coaster, most prominent landmark in that part of the
coastal area.
They tied up to the pier in front of the project
building. The pier had been built originally to take much
bigger boats, when the building was in use as an
oceanographic laboratory. Rick had to climb to get to the
top of the pier and his leg began to ache again.
Inside the building, all hands were working on the
tractor itself. A workman was welding curved steel
plates which had been ordered preshaped for the
purpose. They would form the armored shell for the
machine. Another workman was rigging a chainfall
which would be used to lower the shell when the
scientists were ready for it.
Hartson Brant, Hobart Zircon, and Julius Weiss were
studying an oscilloscope, a device which showed the
electrical pattern of sound on a circular screen much like
that of a television receiver. The principal was the same.
Both television and the scope used cathode tubes to
project a picture. Rick was familiar with the device. One
similar had been used in the Submobile the scientists had
constructed for use under water.
“What‟s up?” Rick asked.
Zircon turned. “We‟re trying to establish word
patterns to which the machine will respond. So far, we
have several. We need as many more.”
“What‟s the scope for?” Scotty inquired.
136
“We don‟t want words with too similar patterns. It
would confuse the machine. If you think of it in terms of
teaching just enough English words to a Hottentot for
simple directions, you‟ll have the idea.”
Scotty laughed. “We not only build it, we teach it to
understand English. Why not use Morse code or
something?”
Julius Weiss answered that one. “This will have
military use, as you know. Suppose a control unit fell
into enemy hands, and required only a few simple code
impulses? Knowing the military desire for
simplification, the code would probably be printed on
the outside of the unit. The enemy could use our own
machines against us, or at least confuse them. But if we
make the commands simple English, it becomes more
difficult. We will set the circuits so they will respond
only to proper, uninflected pronunciation. Then, even if
an enemy speaks English, it won‟t help. He must speak
English without the slightest accent in order to have the
machine obey. We‟re choosing words that are
pronounced, generally, the same way in all regions of
the United States.”
Parnell Winston had been working at the tractor.
“Hartson,” he called. “I‟m set for the starting command.
Want to try it?”
The scientist picked up the control unit Rick and
Scotty had built. “All right, Parnell. Say when.”
“Any time,” Winston called.
Rick‟s father flicked the toggle switch on the unit and
spoke one word. “Switch.”
137
Across the room, relays clicked, a solenoid switch
rammed home, and the tractor engine coughed into life,
raced for a moment, and then idled.
Rick and Scotty looked at each other with
amazement. To know how the machine was expected to
work was one thing. To actually see a voice start it
running with one word was something else.
“I‟m snowed!” Rick exclaimed. He noticed that a tiny
directional antenna, no larger than a doughnut, had
swung as his father spoke and steadied on a direct line
with the scientist. He pointed to it. “Dad, what‟s that
antenna for?”
“Directional control. When we give directions, it will
be in terms of the position of the control unit. In other
words, the word to will mean come to me. Right will
mean to swing ninety degrees to my right.”
The scientist stopped as yells rose from across the
room and the engine raced. Rick looked up as the tractor
started spinning on its caterpillar treads.
Parnell Winston jumped on the thing and did
something, and the engine cut out. “Hey,” he yelled. “Be
careful! Turn off the control unit before you talk.”
The machine was working, all right! Hartson Brant
had forgotten to throw his switch to the off position and
the tractor had tried to obey two commands at once!
Rick and Scotty walked over to the machine. Parnell
Winston greeted them with a pleased grin. “Some baby,
eh?”
“It certainly is,” Rick agreed. “But I see one change
we have to make in the control unit. We can‟t have
138
things happening like what just happened. Suppose I put
a spring button in it instead of the switch? Then the
controller can‟t forget to shut it off.”
“Very good,” Winston said. “Go ahead. I‟m sure
you‟ll find spring buttons of some kind around.”
“It‟s too late to change this unit,” Scotty pointed out.
“The switch terminals are set in solid plastic. But we can
put spring buttons on the rest.”
The boys retired to their bench and started work. Rick
cleaned the silk screen with solvent, leaving it ready for
use. Scotty cut plastic sheets of the right size for the
circuits, then started cutting pieces for the cases. It was
fast work because he used the first sheets of plastic he
had shaped as patterns to make the original box. There
was a piece of plastic for each piece of the case, and
Scotty needed only to place his models on sheets of
stock, trace, and then cut.
Rick used the silk screen to print four more circuits,
then he left them to dry and wandered over to where the
scientists were at work.
Hartson Brant was compiling a vocabulary for the
machine. Checked off as suitable were the words switch,
off, to, go, stop, right, left, get, round, jump, slow, and
ML
Rick saw the meaning of most of the words at once,
but a few puzzled him. He asked Zircon about them.
“Get means to lower the bulldozer blade and start
pushing dirt,” Zircon explained. “Round means to go
around something. If the machine strikes an obstacle and
gets the command round, it will not try to push the
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obstacle aside. It will go around it. Jump means full
power. Slow means just that. Kill means to keep working
on the object until no obstacle remains in the way.
“Our toughest job,” the big scientist added, “is
finding words that have a uniform pronunciation and
still come close to the right meaning. They must be close
so the controller can remember them easily. It doesn‟t
matter to the machine. We could use any combination of
sounds.”
Rick went back to work, gluing the parts in place on
all four sheets and then starting the precise, tiring work
of connecting them into the circuit. Scotty was making
good progress in shaping the case parts.
By lunch time the workman who was welding parts of
the outer plating had finished.
Sandwiches in hand, Rick and Scotty surveyed the
finished product. It was for all the world like a giant
turtle‟s shell. There was a hole in the top with patent
fasteners around the edge. That was an access port
through which work could be done when the plating was
in place. There were other, smaller holes through which
the machine could be filled with gas, oil, and water, the
battery filled or checked, and adjustments made in the
bulldozer blade. The blade would not be put on until the
plating was in place.
On the front of the domed plating were two
projections which would take lights like auto head
lamps. They gave the thing an odd appearance.
“It will look like a nightmare when they get it
finished,” Scotty said. “Sort of a cross between a tractor
140
and a dinosaur.”
“A tractosaur,” Rick agreed. “New variety of beast.”
Parnell Winston had come up behind them in time to
hear their comments. “You‟ve named it,” he said.
“Listen, everybody. Rick and Scotty have come up with
a name. It‟s the Tractosaur!”
There was a chorus of delighted comment. The boys
hadn‟t known it, but the scientists had been searching for
a descriptive name since the start of the project.
“That calls for another sandwich,” Zircon boomed.
“Come on, Rick and Scotty. I‟m the cook. Name your
sandwich and I‟ll make it.”
“I‟ll have a hot dog,” Scotty said.
“Sorry. No hot dogs. How about a corned beef
sandwich?”
“Just had one. I‟ll have roast beef on rye.”
“Sorry. No roast beef. How about corned beef?”
Rick grinned. “In other words, Scotty, you can have
any kind of a sandwich you want, as long as it‟s corned
beef on whole wheat.”
“Not quite,” Zircon corrected. “He can also have a
cold bean sandwich. How about it, Scotty?”
“Corned beef,” Scotty said resignedly.
Zircon sawed off a chunk of corned beef that would
have strangled an alligator. He stuck it between two
slices of bread and handed it to Scotty with a flourish.
“We ate better than this on the trail in China,” Scotty
grumbled.
“You had a better cook,” Zircon reminded. “Come,
Scotty. Relax and enjoy the benefits of civilization.
141
You‟re still a little wild from being in the high hills for
so long. Don‟t you know corned beef is the ultimate
product of modern industry? This fine American product
. . .”
Scotty interrupted. He had been reading the label on
the corned beef can. “This stuff is from Chile.”
The other scientists laughed. Zircon groaned. “I try to
make a fine, patriotic speech and what happens? I‟m
betrayed by an imported product. All right, Scotty. I‟ll
admit corned beef is not the only palatable sandwich
filling ever invented if you‟ll admit that these
sandwiches are much better than no sandwiches at all.”
There was something fishy here, Rick thought.
Corned beef was only one of several canned varieties in
the small store of food.
“Why didn‟t you open something else, professor?” he
asked. “We could have had soup, anyway.”
Zircon looked embarrassed.
“Say, that‟s right!” Winston said. “I just ate what was
handed to me without thinking about it. Why didn‟t you
fix something else, Hobart?”
Zircon waved his huge arms. “Why? I‟ll tell you why!
I was defeated by a fiendish product of this mechanized
civilization. I was frustrated by an invention of a warped
mind!”
Suddenly Rick got it. He exploded into laughter while
the others looked at him with wonderment. “Don‟t you
get it?” he howled. “He means he couldn‟t figure out
how to use the can opener!”
“Confounded device!” Zircon muttered.
142
The corned beef can opened with a key which came
attached to it. The others required a can opener, and the
only one available was a new type which had completely
baffled the big scientist.
The lunch period broke up on a note of merriment.
Zircon went back to work shaking his head, and the boys
returned to their bench.
“Every time something like this happens I marvel,”
Scotty said. “Look at him. He uses complicated
equipment I can‟t even begin to understand. He can rap
out equations on processes so hard that only a handful of
men in the entire country can read them. And he bogs
down completely on a can opener!”
Rick had often wondered about peculiar little blind
spots of that sort. He had them himself. He could figure
out very complex electronic circuits, yet he had found
himself stumped on a really simple puzzle that Barby
had solved easily.
“Guess we‟re all meant to fall short of perfection in
our thought processes,” he said. “Even men like Zircon.
Come on, Scotty. Let‟s roll. We‟ve got a lot to do.”
It was sundown before the next break came. Then the
work on the control units was interrupted by the placing
of the armor plating on the tractor. The boys hurried to
help lower the dome into place. All hands but one held it
while a workman pushed bolts in through a number of
holes, then tightened them.
The Tractosaur looked more like a dinosaur-age turtle
than ever. With the aid of the chainfall, the big bulldozer
blade was attached to its movable arms.
143
The Tractosaur was complete, except for closing the
top. The lights were in place and they worked. The
antenna thrust up like an oddly shaped ruff on an animal.
“Put the top plate on,” Rick begged. “Let‟s see how it
looks when finished.”
At a nod from Winston, two workmen slid the plate
into place. A few twists of their screw drivers locked the
patent fastenings.
The Tractosaur was finished, except for testing.
“Going to try it?” Scotty asked.
Hartson Brant shook his head. “No point in taking it
outside tonight. It would be dark before we got started.
But I do think an inside test would set our minds at ease.
I‟m sure it will work exactly as planned, but let‟s try a
few commands.”
Parnell Winston took the control unit and switched it
on. “Switch,” he said. There were a few clickings and
the engine roared into life. “Go.” The Tractosaur‟s
antenna, which had pointed at the scientist on the first
command, swiveled briefly. The tractor spun until it was
stern-on to the scientist, then started ahead. “Stop!” he
said quickly. The door was only a few feet away. Unless
stopped, the tractor would go right through it.
“To,” Winston commanded. The machine spun until it
faced him, then started ahead.
Rick watched, interested. The caterpillar treads
enabled the machine to spin in its own length. On the
command to, the left tread had reversed while the right
one went forward, spinning the tractor around.
“That‟s enough,” Winston said. He shut the control
144
unit off. “We can put it through its paces in the
morning.”
“Off,” the scientist added, and the engine stopped.
“Don‟t you have to throw a switch?” Rick asked. “To
shut off the receiver, I mean.”
“Not on this one,” Hartson Brant explained. “With
transistors, the power drain is so low that it‟s really not
of consequence. We didn‟t bother with a circuit switch.
To shut off the electronics portion for repairs or
replacement, we remove one battery cable. Rick, how
close to done are you?”
“Another two hours‟ work,” he said. “More or less.
We‟d better stay tonight, Dad. We‟ll have the units done
in time to get a good night‟s sleep.”
Hartson Brant hesitated for a moment. “It‟s all right, I
guess. The highway has more police cars than I‟ve ever
seen. Just don‟t start hunting Soapy Strade again.” After
the scientists and technicians had gone, the boys
prepared supper, using the can opener that had baffled
Zircon. Then they resumed work, completing the
assembly of the four control units. The workbench was
cluttered with parts. Rick absently put the original unit
in his hip pocket to make more room on the bench, then
cleared space for the rest of the work. He had intended
putting all control units in a single place, but by the time
they had finished, he had completely forgotten it.
145
CHAPTER XIV
A Fine Night for Murder
Rick opened his eyes and stared into darkness. He turned
his head and made out the outline of the upstairs room.
Next to him Scotty was stirring a little on his canvas cot.
He looked at the window and saw a few stars in the sky,
but it was still very dark out. The moon had set soon
after sundown.
He turned over, punched his pillow into a more
comfortable position, and tried to go to sleep again.
Tomorrow they would take the Tractosaur outdoors
and really give it a try. That would be exciting. He still
couldn‟t believe that a handful of words from a
controller, plus the machine‟s own thoughts, would
enable it to do such things as taking out a tree or moving
a big pile of earth.
He tried to concentrate on the basic plan of the
machine. Each action caused electrons to gather in a
particular pattern on a series of specially made
146
condensers in the thing‟s “brain.” Those condensers
were the Tractosaur‟s “memory.” But it wasn‟t a very
long memory.
Within an hour or so the electrons leaked off the
condenser plates. Suppose the machine received the
order to go, and went straight ahead and bumped into
something it couldn‟t move. It would try several times.
If it still failed, the electron pattern for that failure would
take form on one of the condensers. So long as the
pattern persisted, the machine wouldn‟t try that
particular thing again.
Allowing the electrons to leak off after a short time
was deliberate. The scientists didn‟t want too many
memory patterns to accumulate. Then the machine,
instead of being guided by its memories, would become
confused.
It was like teaching a baby, Rick thought.
“You awake?” Scotty whispered.
Rick started. He had been listening intently and
hadn‟t realized it. “Yes. What‟s the matter? Can‟t you
sleep?”
“Can‟t you?” Scotty countered.
“I guess not,” Rick answered. “I feel like the night
before Christmas. Too excited to sleep, I guess.”
“No,” Scotty said softly. “It‟s not that. Something‟s
happening. I can feel it.”
Rick‟s scalp prickled. Scotty had an uncanny way of
sensing things. It had happened before. He thought it
was a result of his service in the Marine Corps when
night watches had taught him to be aware of every sound
147
or movement. Whatever it was, Rick had a deep respect
for the strange talent. He had never known Scotty to be
wrong.
He rubbed the bandage on his leg absently, ears
straining to hear, and thought he detected a deep, purring
sound. “Do you hear anything?”
Scotty moved swiftly from his bed to the window.
“Yes, but I‟m not sure what.”
Rick followed, but more slowly. His leg was a little
stiff, and it was itching, a sign that it probably was
healing. He joined Scotty at the window, shivering a
little in the cool breeze from the sea.
Both boys listened intently and Rick heard it again,
clearer now. He whispered, “So it wasn‟t excitement that
woke me up. Scotty, that‟s a motorboat!”
Scotty was a dim figure at the window beside him.
Rick saw him nod.
“Listen.”
It was too dark to see. “It‟s right offshore,” Scotty
said, “but the engine is just barely idling. What do you
make of it?”
Rick didn‟t know. He said as much.
The engine noise ceased.
For long moments they crouched at the window,
scarcely breathing. Once a car sped by on the highway,
but that was the only sound.
Rick listened tensely. The boat was still somewhere
close by, probably floating in to shore on the slight
swell. It had to mean something. People didn‟t keep
engines idling at this time of night just for fun. The
148
boatman was trying hard not to make noise. He couldn‟t
think of any other reason.
He wondered suddenly what time it was and looked at
his watch. The luminous dial read 4:25. Dawn couldn‟t
be too long away.
Scotty gripped his arm, and Rick heard the noise at
the same moment. Across the fence, at the amusement
park, something had grated on sand. It could only be the
boat, landing. At the amusement park! He shivered.
Soapy Strade or Lefty the Gonif or both! Who else
would be entering the amusement park from the sea in
the predawn hours?
But why?
There was another long interval of silence, then
footsteps rustled in the grass from the direction of the
road.
Scotty put his lips close to Rick‟s ear. “Someone
coming. Let‟s try the other window.”
They had been looking out toward the amusement
park. Now they made their way carefully to the back of
the building, to the window that faced the Shore Road.
This time they kept their faces partially hidden, each
peering out from beside the window.
A dark form moved toward the project building on
their side of the fence. He moved with caution, and
every few moments he stopped to listen. Once, starlight
reflected from something metallic, and Rick knew the
man carried a gun.
A shiver ran down Rick‟s spine. Was Soapy Strade
coming to finish the job?
149
He realized that couldn‟t be the answer. Soapy would
have no way of knowing whether or not they were
staying overnight. So far as he knew, the gang chief
couldn‟t possibly know whether anyone was in the
building. But if the man searched, he would find them.
Rick tried to peer through the darkness, to identify the
night prowler. Scotty had good eyes. Rick ducked under
the window and moved to his side. In a barely audible
whisper, he asked, “What do you think? Is it Soapy or
Lefty?”
“Don‟t know,” Scotty answered softly. “Let‟s hope
not. It‟s real nice and dark. A fine night for murder, if
that‟s what he‟s after.”
The dark figure reached the spot at the fence opposite
the corner of the building. His face was a gray blur.
Again Rick strained to see details, but it was useless. It
could be any of the three who had ambushed Mike.
Whoever the man was, he was connected somehow
with the boat that had landed on the amusement park
beach. That meant he was one of Soapy‟s men, if not
Soapy himself. What was he after?
The figure left the fence and moved to the building.
The boys watched, hardly breathing. The man peered
through a ground-floor window, then moved on. The
boys followed him as best they could, moving from
window to window silently going from room to room.
The dark figure made a complete circuit of the
building, stopping to look into every window. Then he
returned to the first corner and felt for something against
the wall.
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Rick wondered what he was searching for, and knew
the answer a moment later. There was the gleam of a
knife, then a dull sound as the man sawed through the
telephone wires!
The boys retired from the window for a hurried
conference.
“What‟s he after?” Rick breathed.
Scotty‟s voice was hushed. “If you want my guess,
he‟s a guard. They don‟t know whether anyone is here or
not, and they‟re not taking any chances.”
“But he cut the phone wire! Scotty, we‟ve got to get
the police somehow. He‟s probably one of Soapy
Strade‟s men, and that means Strade himself is in the
amusement park!”
“There‟s only one way to get help,” Scotty said.
Rick knew what he meant. Unless they wanted to stay
trapped in the building, they had to make a run for it.
And that meant getting the guard, somehow.
They talked in low whispers, thinking up plans and
then rejecting them as unworkable.
“I think I‟ve got it,” Scotty said. “Good thing the back
window is open, or it wouldn‟t work. Didn‟t I see some
lead blocks under the bench downstairs?”
Rick tried to remember. He thought there had been a
couple of lead bars. The scientists had used some for
extra counterbalances on the bulldozer arms, in order to
lighten the load for the little electric motor that
determined the angle of the blade. But had they used
them all?
“If there are any, they‟re under the bench next to the
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one where we worked,” he said finally. “Want me to go
see?”
“We‟ll both go,” Scotty whispered. “If we make a
noise and warn him, the chances are better if we‟re
together. Come on.”
They moved to the stairway, then crowded against the
wall. There was less chance of a stair tread creaking that
way. Even so, one stair let out a groan and Rick
stiffened, sweat breaking out on him. They waited for a
long moment but there was no sound from outside.
Scotty nudged him and they continued to the ground
floor. Scotty put his lips to Rick‟s ear and whispered,
“Wait.”
Rick did so. Scotty could move better in the dark than
he. He saw his pal stepping through the litter on the
floor, moving carefully, then vanish under the right
bench. Presently Scotty returned, as cautiously as he had
gone, and he was carrying something in each hand.
Again he put his lips to Rick‟s ear. “Got two. Now get
this. You stay downstairs. As soon as I leave, count to a
hundred slowly. Then you go close to the window over
there, the one under the upstairs window where we‟ve
been watching. Make a noise. Not much of a noise.
Arouse his curiosity, but don‟t scare him or get him
excited. I want him to look in the window. I‟ll do the
rest.”
Rick squeezed Scotty‟s arm. He guessed what his
friend was going to do. He gave him a little push. Scotty
vanished into the darkness of the stair well. Rick began
to count.
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It was the longest hundred he had ever counted. As he
neared the end, he picked his way slowly through the
litter on the floor, skirted the silent Tractosaur, and made
his way to the window. Unless the guard had moved, he
was directly on the other side of the wall.
Rick finished his count, then scuffed his foot on the
floor, forgetting he had no shoes on. He got a splinter for
his trouble, but no sound. He groped around and found a
block of wood. A metal case was standing near by.
Ready to duck, Rick drew the edge of the block across
the metal. It made a small, rasping sound.
He waited, set to duck behind the case, but no face
appeared at the window. He tried again, a little harder.
The rasp set his teeth on edge. There was faint sound
from the other side of the wall.
He did it once more, and then froze as a white face
looked in at the window.
The man‟s mouth opened, and Rick knew that he had
seen the white blur of the boy‟s face. Rick started to
duck, then there was a sound like a baseball smacking
into a catcher‟s mitt. Scotty had dropped a lead weight.
The face vanished and he heard something thud to the
ground outside.
Scotty came down the stairs with a rush. “Got him,”
he said. His voice was hushed. “Come on!”
In bare feet they ran to the door, threw it open, and
hurried around the corner of the building. The guard was
lying in a crumpled heap. “Take his legs,” Scotty
whispered. Rick did so, and Scotty slid his hands under
the man‟s armpits. They rushed him back into the
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building “Got him dead center,” Scotty said. “First
shot.” He found wire, turned the man over, and lashed
his wrists behind his back. Rick felt his pulse and found
it beating threadily. He was alive, but he wouldn‟t take
much interest in his surroundings for some time. Even in
the faint light they could see that he was a stranger.
“Now what?” Rick asked.
“I‟m going for help,” Scotty said. “There must be
police cars somewhere around, or one will be coming
by. Anyway, there are houses within half a mile. I‟ll get
to one if I don‟t find the troopers, and call for help.”
“What do I do meantime?” Rick asked. “I‟d better go
with you. No, I‟ve a better idea. We have to assume
Soapy Strade is here, but we don‟t know what for, or
how long he‟ll stay. I don‟t think anyone but Strade and
his men would come at this time of night. When you get
help, have the troopers notify the Coast Guard. Then if
the boat takes off we‟ll have some hope of picking it up.
I‟ll mosey around and try to spot Strade. At least I‟ll be
able to tell what direction he took.”
“Good idea,” Scotty agreed. “But remember your leg
won‟t take much. Don‟t try anything foolish. I‟d stay
here and you could go for the police if it wasn‟t for the
leg. Keep under cover. It‟s a good idea to get away from
the building anyway, in case Strade comes looking for
his chum. Wonder if Lefty is with him?”
They ran upstairs and got into their clothes. Then
Scotty hurried off with another warning to keep under
cover. Rick searched in the grass for a few moments and
found the guard‟s gun. He thrust it into his belt. It might
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come in handy.
A thought struck him. It might come in very handy
indeed! With the pistol, he could hold the gangster at
bay, if necessary, until help came. He didn‟t try to kid
himself that he could win a gun fight with Strade. But he
knew that a shot or two from ambush would at least slow
him up.
There was only one way to find out if Soapy was in
the park, and that was to take a look. No real danger in
it, he assured himself. Not very much, anyway. The
gangster would feel secure, knowing that a guard had
been posted on the project building, the only building
around. Besides, Rick had the cover of darkness, and he
knew how to use it.
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CHAPTER XV
Stairway to Danger
There was one possibility Rick had overlooked, as he
suddenly realized. If the guard came to, he might yell for
help and tip Soapy Strade off that something was wrong.
Rick went back into the building, found a piece of
rope, took his handkerchief, and stuffed it into the
guard‟s mouth. With the rope around his head and across
his mouth he wouldn‟t be able to spit out the gag.
That done, Rick hesitated. Which way to go? He
debated going over the fence. He could get to the top by
rolling a trash can into place for a footrest. But that
would mean jumping to the ground on the other side. His
leg wouldn‟t take it without opening up again. That left
the hinged board in the fence.
He glanced at his watch. It seemed as though hours
had passed since the boat had grounded on the sand, but
the luminous hands told him that less than fifteen
minutes had elapsed. He and Scotty had moved fast.
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There was no way of telling what Soapy wanted at the
amusement park, or how long he would stay. Better get
going.
He went along the fence, ears attuned for any
unexpected sound, eyes searching the darkness for
movement. He rounded the corner of the fence and
moved slowly toward the hinged board, more cautious
than ever in case someone should come through the
fence unexpectedly.
He reached the hinged board, then stiffened suddenly
as a strangled yell sounded from the direction of the
parking area.
Scotty!
But it couldn‟t be. The nearest houses were down the
road in the other direction. Scotty wouldn‟t have gone in
the direction from which he had heard the yell.
Still . . . Rick bit his lip. He was worried now, worried
about Scotty. If he could only be sure!
For a moment he debated hurrying to the parking
area, then realized there was nothing there that would
give him any kind of cover. If Soapy or Lefty were over
there, he would walk right into them.
The yell hadn‟t sounded like Scotty, now that he
thought about it. The voice had been deeper, of a
different quality. That, plus doubt that Scotty would
have gone in that direction, decided his course of action.
He slipped through the board opening into the
amusement park.
He knew his way around the park now, thanks to his
and Scotty‟s earlier visits. He cut across lots, moving
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fairly rapidly, but taking advantage of every bit of cover.
He headed straight for the fun house. That was the focus
of all Strade‟s activities. Whatever Soapy Strade wanted
would be there.
He wondered about the man they had slugged. He had
expected to see Lefty, or the third man who had
ambushed Mike Curtis. Probably the stranger was one of
Soapy‟s old gang. Rick was sure he had never seen the
man before.
The closer he got to the fun house, the slower he
went. He circled to approach it from the rear, alert for
any hint of light.
If Soapy was inside, he would be using either a lamp
or a flashlight. Either would show through the window.
As he got closer and saw no light he began to wonder.
Was anyone in the place?
He slipped the pistol from his belt and moved closer
to the building, listening. There was no sound. He
moved closer still, putting each foot down carefully to
avoid making any noise. He kept going until he was at
the wall of the building, his ear against it.
If anyone walked around inside, or spoke, he would
be able to hear. But the only thing he heard was his own
pulse.
He thought it over. There was a possibility that Soapy
had already come and gone. There was also a strong
possibility that Soapy had something to do with the yell
he had heard. If so, he might not have arrived as yet.
The door was around the corner from the wall where
he was listening. He moved to the corner and peered
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around. Nothing moved in the faint starlight.
Rick debated swiftly. The better part of valor was
wisdom, which called for a quick retreat into some
strategic corner from which he could watch. But he was
also curious, and very often his curiosity overcame his
wisdom. He wanted to know why Soapy had returned to
the amusement park. There was an obvious answer. The
escaped gangster had returned to get something.
He tiptoed to the door, opened it, and with pistol
extended, stepped inside.
Silence greeted him.
He took a step forward and something scurried across
the floor with a scratching of tiny claws. Only a rat, but
his nerves made him jump involuntarily. Sweat started
out in beads on his face.
The rat could just as well have been Soapy. He
realized now that entering the building had been the
height of foolishness. Better get out—and quick. He
knew just where he could hide, behind a counter in one
of the concession buildings. He would have a view—
such as it was in the darkness—of the fun house back
door. That was all he needed.
He pushed the door open, then stopped with one foot
outside, cold sweat bathing him. There were low voices,
and they were coming his way!
There wasn‟t time to run for it. He did the only thing
he could do. He stepped back inside, swung the door
closed, then felt his way to the inner door that led to the
former mirror chamber. Fortunately, he remembered the
layout of the place. He avoided obstacles by feeling with
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each foot before he put it down.
When he gained the shelter of the inner room he was
sweating profusely. He didn‟t know whose voices they
were, but he had a very good idea. One thing was
certain. They weren‟t friendly. Friends would have come
with lights.
His mind raced. If he was correct in supposing Soapy
had come to get something, then he was in real danger.
Captain Douglas and the troopers had searched the back
room thoroughly. It wasn‟t likely that whatever Soapy
wanted was there. It must be in the main room, perhaps
under the sliding stairs, or under the floor. It might even
be on the second floor.
Already moving, he planned what he would do. He
remembered the upstairs pretty well. He would go to the
landing and wait. If Soapy got what he was after in the
main room, well and good. He would have an audience
of one. If the reason for Soapy‟s return was on the upper
floor, Rick would go through the roof trap door. From
there he could climb down the roller coaster frame to the
ground.
It all depended on his not being seen. If he was seen .
. . there was only one thing to do. He would have to try
to shoot his way clear.
He had to tuck the pistol in his belt now, however,
because he needed both hands to feel his way. Even the
big main room was pitch dark. As he entered it he heard
the voices in the room behind.
He turned and stepped cautiously, feeling his way to
the sliding stairs. Then he went up them, careful to keep
160
close to the wall where the stairs were less likely to
creak. He paused at the landing and tried to figure the
best place to hide. He settled on the little booth where
the stair lever was located. He could stand up in there, be
reasonably shielded, and he could watch what went on
below.
The palms of his hands were wet. He wiped them on
his trouser legs. He probably looked like a scared spook,
he told himself. And that was how he felt. He was plenty
scared. Lefty was bad enough, but it was the thought of
Soapy that really made him shudder. The only way to be
complete master of a crime ring, as Soapy had been, was
to be tougher than the toughest gunsel in the mob.
He couldn‟t kid himself. He was courting sudden
death. Again he called himself a fool for going inside
that door.
He shrank back without thinking as a faint beam of
yellow light marked the dark floor below. Then he
moved forward again and watched it. It grew larger and
larger, until the big room was filled with faint dancing
shadows. Then the source of light emerged. It was a
lantern, and holding it was Soapy Strade.
Rick held his breath. The next few moments would
tell the story.
Strade came out of the mirror room, turned, and in a
few strides was at the stairs.
Rick turned to hurry out, and his belt caught on the
stair lever. He grabbed for it, trying to free himself, and
the tip of the lever thrust further through the belt.
Strade was on the stairs, starting up!
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Rick jerked free, and the lever moved.
The gang leader let out a wild yell as the stairs slid
from under him!
Rick moved like a streak toward the safety of the
roof, struck the booth door frame with his arm and spun
around, and his belt, loosened by his sudden jerk for
freedom, released the pistol. It clattered to the floor, slid,
and spun noisily down the slide!
At that moment Strade struck the floor, the lantern
flew from his hand and smashed against something.
Darkness flooded in.
Rick didn‟t waste time in lamenting the loss of his
pistol. In two jumps he was at the trap door, forcing it
open. His back muscles tensed, waiting for the shock of
a bullet.
Compared with the blackness inside the fun house, it
was light outside. At least it was light enough to see
shapes, and the dirty gray frame of the coaster. Rick
hurried across the roof to the first upright and searched
for a way down. He knew he had only seconds. Soapy
would be coming up the other stairs, murder on his
mind.
A quick survey failed to disclose an upright that led to
the ground. Rick leaned over and looked down. A jump
would break a leg from that height!
He turned to look for another way down from the roof
and realized that there was none.
There was no way at all to get down from the roof!
He hadn‟t seen the significance of the roller coaster
tracks on the fun house roof. Now it suddenly dawned
162
upon him that the roller coaster had been constructed so
that the fun house itself was a part of the structure,
supporting the tracks at that point! He couldn‟t go down!
He could only go up!
163
CHAPTER XVI
For Want of a Nickel
When Scotty left Rick at the project building he headed
south. The nearest houses were in that direction and he
was as apt to run into a police car there as anywhere.
For a few moments he worried about leaving Rick
behind, but there had been no other choice. With that
injured leg his pal couldn‟t have run the distance, and
speed was imperative. Soapy Strade surely wouldn‟t be
hanging around the amusement park for very long. He
had to get into his boat and take off for his hiding place
before daylight.
Scotty jogged along at a ground-eating pace that
made good time but still conserved his strength. He
didn‟t move onto the highway itself until he was far
enough away so his footsteps wouldn‟t be heard.
He suddenly realized that he hadn‟t even thought
about the guard‟s gun. Rick would think of it, though.
That made Scotty feel better. Rick was more at home
164
with a rifle than a pistol, but he would be able to take
care of himself.
He kept turning his head to look back, hoping to see
the lights of a car. At any other time, he told himself,
there would be at least an occasional car on the highway.
But tonight when he needed one desperately, no lights
showed.
He had never noticed the exact distance from the
project building to the nearest houses, but he estimated it
was a little over a half mile. The houses were really
nothing but shacks, mostly unpainted and ill-kept. They
formed a small settlement for a handful of laborers who
made a poor living with occasional work on the railroad,
Rick had said.
About half the distance had been covered when he
thought he heard something, like a faint yell, from the
direction of the amusement park. He stopped short,
waiting for more sound. There was none.
Scotty began to worry. Had that been Rick?
For a moment he almost turned back, then he realized
he could do nothing against Strade‟s gun. The best way
to help Rick would be to bring the police in a hurry. He
started off again, at a full run.
He was in good condition, and he kept running until
the first house loomed ahead. He ran up a flight of
rickety stairs and hammered at the door.
He paused for a moment, heard nothing, then began
hammering again.
The door opened a crack.
“Whatcha want?” a man‟s voice demanded. “Don‟t
165
try nothin‟ because I got a shotgun pointed smack at yer
belly.”
“I need a phone,” Scotty said breathlessly. “Gotta call
the police! Please, let me use your phone.”
“Ain‟t got none. And don‟t want no part of the police,
neither. Get goin‟ and let me alone.”
“Where can I find a phone?” Scotty begged. “There
must be one around here somewhere.”
“None of these houses got one. Yer outta luck unless
you get to the store about a mile down. They got one.
Sometimes Old Man Yager sleeps in the back.”
Scotty jumped from the porch and started running.
Now that the man had reminded him, he recalled the
store. It was a ramshackle place that dealt in staple
groceries. It was plastered with chewing tobacco and
snuff signs as weathered as the building itself.
He slowed his pace a little because he didn‟t want to
wear himself out completely before the store even was in
sight. He settled down to a long, loping pace that
conserved energy but covered ground rapidly. What had
happened to all the police cruisers that were supposed to
be in the area?
Then he realized he was being a little unreasonable.
Only a short time had elapsed since leaving the project.
A police car couldn‟t go by every moment or two. It was
a long road and there just weren‟t that many cruisers.
He tried to assure himself that it hadn‟t been Rick
who yelled, but the distance had been too great to
identify the voice. He had to admit that it might have
been Rick. He increased his stride a little.
166
If only a car would come! Any car!
It was harder to breathe now. His chest hurt. He kept
on running, knowing that in a short time he would get
his second wind.
He passed a clump of trees and realized that he was
almost at the store. It was just beyond. In a few moments
he saw it, a shabby, lonely place, several hundred feet
from the nearest houses.
He reached the low stoop that served as an entrance
and looked in through a fly-specked glass panel in the
door. There was no light inside, nor did he hear any
sound. He hammered on the door, then kicked it
violently. The glass panel rattled and he desisted for fear
of breaking it.
There must be a back door. He hurried around the
building and found it. There was no glass. He pounded it
until his hand hurt.
Old Man Yager wasn‟t sleeping in the store tonight,
that was sure. Unless he was stone deaf. Scotty ran back
to the front, desperate now. He looked up and down the
road, but there was no sign of car headlights.
He made up his mind. There was only one thing he
could do. “This is where I become a criminal,” he
muttered.
A stone made a handy implement. He threw it, and
listened to the sound of shattering glass. Then he broke
the jagged pieces from the bottom of the door panel and
stepped inside.
There were electric lights. He found a switch and
turned them on, blinking in the sudden glare. The
167
telephone was in the back of the store, and it was a pay
phone!
He felt in his pockets, heart sinking. He knew what
the answer would be. He had no change at all.
The cash register stood on the counter. He jumped
over the worn top and punched the no sale key. The
drawer flew open. It was empty.
Frantically he ransacked drawers, felt in the pocket of
a greasy apron that hung from a nail. He looked in every
possible place and a few unlikely ones.
At last he stood helpless. The phone was there, but
without a nickel it was no good to him at all!
He had to do something—and quick! He had to get a
nickel, or he had to find another phone. Either way, he
had to get out of the store. He stepped through the
broken door panel and looked around.
The nearest houses were in sight. He started running
again, praying that he would find a reception with no
shotgun.
Somewhere down the road a dog began to bark
excitedly. Scotty stooped and found a rock, just in case,
then he hurried on again. These houses were no better
than the ones farther back. Would any of them have
phones? He looked overhead at the phone wires and
decided to follow them until he came to a house lead-in.
That way, he was sure of finding a phone.
The fourth house had a lead-in. That was the house
with the dog. Scotty listened to the wild yapping and
decided the dog was chained behind the house. That was
good. He went up the front steps in one leap and
168
hammered at the door.
The barking had already awakened the occupant, or
perhaps he was an early riser. He pulled back a curtain
from the porch window and called, “What do you
want?”
Scotty yelled back, “I need the police! Open up,
mister, please!”
The man responded by raising the window. “Police,
you say?”
“Yes. I have to use your phone, mister. Honestly, I‟m
not a burglar or anything. I‟ve got to call the state
troopers.”
“Haven‟t got a phone,” the man said. “Had it taken
out. Don‟t know where you‟ll find one.”
“Then have you got a nickel? The store has a phone.
But I don‟t have change.”
“The store‟s closed,” the man said suspiciously.
“I know it,” Scotty said desperately. “I broke in. But
it‟s a pay phone, and I haven‟t got a nickel.”
“Wait there.” The window slammed shut.
Scotty danced on one foot and then the other, burning
with impatience. But he could do nothing to hurry the
man.
Fortunately, he didn‟t take long. In a very few
moments the barking of the dog grew nearer, and the
man‟s voice snapped, “Shut up, Hortense. Keep still.”
He came around the corner, holding tightly to a leash.
On the other end of the leash was a big dog of uncertain
ancestry. She was part collie, part hound, and, to
Scotty‟s nervous glance, part wolf.
169
“Don‟t know who or what you are,” the man said
shortly, “but don‟t try anything. Hortense is pretty fast
on her feet and she‟ll get you if I say so.”
“I won‟t try anything, Scotty said pleadingly, “I just
want to get the police. Have you got a nickel?”
“Got one,” the man agreed. “And I‟m going to be
right with you when you use it. Old Man Yager is a
friend of mine. You better have a good reason for
busting into his store.”
“Come on,” Scotty said impatiently. “Honestly, this is
urgent.” He started off at a trot, the man and dog behind
him.
At the store the man motioned to the broken glass in
the door. “Get inside.”
Scotty did so, and waited.
Hortense was handed through the broken panel but
the man kept a hold on her leash. Hortense was not a
pretty dog and she looked at Scotty with the same
hopeful expression with which she would have regarded
a rare steak.
The man came through the panel. He was about sixty,
with a pleasant but weather-beaten face. He handed
Scotty a nickel.
Scotty almost choked with relief. He lifted the
receiver and dropped in the nickel. There was a clang
and the operator‟s voice answered sleepily.
“Number pi . . .”
Scotty couldn‟t wait. “Emergency,” he yelled. “Get
me the police barracks at Whiteside. State Police. Hurry,
please!”
170
The operator‟s voice was no longer sleepy. “Yes, sir!”
There was a long ring on the line and a male voice
answered. “State Police.”
“Captain Douglas,” Scotty said urgently. “I‟ve got to
talk with him.”
“He‟s asleep,” the voice growled. “What do you
want?”
“This is Don Scott,” he said urgently, “from Spindrift.
You‟ve got to call him! It‟s about Soapy Strade!”
There was a gasp from the man with the dog.
“Hold the line!” The receiver clattered on the police
desk at Whiteside. Within ten seconds Captain Douglas
was barking into the phone. “Talk, Scotty!”
“Soapy Strade is at the amusement park,” Scotty said
quickly. “He put a guard on the project building. Rick
and I slugged the guard and tied him up.”
“How long ago?”
Scotty couldn‟t be sure. “Maybe ten minutes. Maybe
fifteen.”
“Where‟s Rick?”
“I don‟t know. Captain, I heard someone yell while I
was running down the road. If it was Rick . . .”
“Quick! Where are you?”
“Yager‟s store. It‟s below the amusement park on the
Shore Road.”
“Stay there. Scotty, didn‟t you see one of my
cruisers?”
“No, sir!”
“There was one guarding the amusement park.
Something‟s very wrong. Stay put and I‟ll have a car
171
there in minutes.”
The connection was broken. Scotty turned to the man
who had helped him. “Thank you, sir. The police will be
here in a few minutes.”
“It‟s all right, boy. Soapy Strade you said? He the one
who escaped a few days ago?”
“That‟s the joker.”
“I‟m staying right with you.” The man added hastily,
“I believe your story, all right. But I want to see what
happens when the troopers try to get this man. Killer,
from what I hear.”
“He‟s that, all right.” Scotty‟s mind wasn‟t on the
conversation. He was worried sick about Rick. And he
wondered—if a cruiser had been guarding the
amusement park, where was it? He and Rick hadn‟t
known about a cruiser. He walked to the door and saw
that the eastern sky was growing pink. It was almost
dawn.
And from far down the road came the welcome sound
of a police siren.
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CHAPTER XVII
Trap in the Sky
Rick went up. He had no choice. He leaped for a cross
brace and pulled himself up on it just as Soapy Strade
burst through the door to the roof.
Rick didn‟t even think about watching for handholds.
Pushed by sudden fear, he went up the upright to the
next brace as though jet propelled. His skin crawled,
expecting the shock of a bullet.
The track was right above him. He swung himself up
and then took time for a look downward.
Strade was staring up at him. Rick saw the pale blur
of his face.
“Come down,” Strade grated.
Rick‟s voice shook slightly, but it was loud enough.
He said politely, “No, thank you.”
“Don‟t make me come after you,” Strade said. His
voice was surprisingly calm. “Don‟t make me, kid.”
Rick didn‟t answer. Why didn‟t Strade shoot? Then
173
he thought he knew. A pistol shot would be very loud—
loud enough to be heard for some distance. There was
every chance that someone would hear it and phone for
the police.
Strade waited a moment while Rick inched upward,
then he walked to the edge of the roof, reached upward
for a handhold and came upward with astonishing speed.
Rick stifled a groan. In his terrified haste to climb to
safety he had completely forgotten that one upright had
cleats nailed to it to make a ladder. He increased his
speed as best he could.
Climbing the track was much more difficult than
working up the frame. His body was parallel with the
track, because of its steep angle. This was where the
roller coaster had gained speed in its downward plunge,
passing a short distance above the fun house roof before
dipping to the ground.
He had to move on hands and knees, holding fast to
every handhold. It was hard going because there were
open spaces between the crosspieces that served as ties.
His leg made it even worse. It constantly bumped as he
moved, and it hurt.
Soapy Strade, however, was having equal trouble. He
was perhaps twenty feet behind Rick, and when the boy
looked back he couldn‟t see that the gangster had gained
after the first rush up the ladder.
Rick reached a space where a tie was missing. He had
to cross about four feet of open air, a foot sliding
precariously on each track, his hands gripping the rails
until his fingers hurt. The crossing made him conscious
174
of his height aboveground, because he was beyond the
fun house roof now. He looked down, and down, and
down, his eye following an upright, and had to grit his
teeth to keep from getting dizzy. He turned his eyes
away resolutely and kept going. One foot slipped, and
for an awful moment he thought the other would be
pulled from the track, too, but he kept his balance and
inched ahead to comparative safety.
The highest point in the track was only a dozen feet
ahead. He took a quick look behind and saw the
gangster, still coming.
The silence was more ominous than yells of rage or
threats would have been. It was as though the gangster
was telegraphing a mental message. “Don‟t worry kid.
Keep climbing. I‟ll get you when I‟m ready. Nothing
you can do about it.”
Rick stood it as long as he could, then he asked, just
to hear his own voice, “Where‟s Lefty?”
Strade‟s reply seemed cordial enough. “I sent him to
the road gate to keep an eye open for cops. How did you
know his name?”
So Lefty was with Strade! There was no point in
concealing the answer. “Saw it on a police file card,
along with his picture.”
Strade was silent for a moment, then he said
pleasantly, “So you put the finger on Lefty for the cops,
huh? For that, maybe I won‟t cut your throat before I
push you off. Maybe I‟ll just stick you lightly a couple
of times before I shove. Just enough so you won‟t hang
on.”
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Rick‟s mouth dried up and his tongue stuck to the
roof of his mouth. He swallowed hard.
When he tried to speak again his voice wouldn‟t work
properly. He had to clear his throat. “No sticking until
you catch me. And you can‟t go any faster than I can.”
He was talking just to hear himself, and he knew it.
He tried to speed up his slow progress, grabbing for
handholds, trying to keep his feet from slipping. The ties
were just too far apart to be used as long ladder rungs.
Strade was cheerful about it. He chuckled. “That‟s
right, kid. I can‟t go any faster than you. But I don‟t
need to. I been up here before, and I know what‟s on the
other side of the hump. Do you?”
Rick started to reply that he didn‟t, then changed his
mind. He had better save his breath.
Strade continued, “I‟ll tell you. Seems that a short
time before they closed the park, a coaster car jumped
the track. Ever hear about it?”
The gangster was trying to bluff. “I didn‟t,” Rick
replied, “because it never happened. I live around here
and I would have read about it.”
“Not this accident,” Strade said. “It wasn‟t in the
papers. Because it happened during the day when the
coaster was being tested. Matter of fact, that‟s what
really killed the park. The coaster was the big attraction,
and the frame was so rotten it had to be replaced. There
wasn‟t enough money to replace it.”
He fell silent, and Rick looked back. The gangster
was making his way over the break in the ties.
Once across the gap, Strade continued, “So the park
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closed, and the track where the car jumped was never
fixed. It tore the tracks loose and broke the ties. You
can‟t tell it from the ground, but there are eight feet of
broken track that won‟t hold a man‟s weight.”
Rick had a horrible feeling that the gangster was
telling the truth. He was almost at the top now, and he
would soon know. He realized suddenly that he could
see an end of broken track against the sky. He swiveled
his head around to the east and saw that the sky was
definitely lighter. Clouds near the horizon were taking
on a pinkish look. It was almost dawn.
He planned what he would do if Soapy had told the
truth. If the track wouldn‟t hold him, the uprights would.
He would swing down, then slide for his life.
It wasn‟t as easy as that, though. The track was
slightly wider than the frame, and there was a little
overhang. If he hung by his hands, he could wrap his
legs around the upright. Then would come the bad
moment when he had to let go and grab for a handhold
on the heavy beam.
During that moment his legs would have to hold him.
Normally, that would be no problem. But with his
injured leg, there were bad possibilities. The strain of
gripping the upright would pop the wound open again,
and if the pain were too great, he might lose co-
ordination for a fatal second. One second or less would
be enough.
The ground was a long way below.
His hands were damp as he inched his way to the very
top of the coaster. It was level for a few feet and he
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moved quickly. The sky was lighter now, light enough to
see that the gang leader had told him the exact truth.
The ties were in place. So were the rails that
supported the tracks. But the tracks themselves were
lying slightly askew, and the ties and supports were held
together only by rusty nails. He couldn‟t see the nails,
but he could see the breaks at the places where the frame
had been joined.
He moved back quickly, intent on finding an upright
down which he could go, and something ground into his
hip. He shifted position and looked back.
Soapy Strade was closing in, and he was smiling. As
Rick watched, the gang chief reached into his pocket and
pulled something out. There was a click as a spring-
blade knife snapped open.
The early light gleamed from a blade six inches long.
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CHAPTER XVIII
Proof of the Pudding!
Even as Rick saw the knife snap open he realized that he
was completely trapped.
There was no upright directly under the top of the
coaster!
To reach an upright he had to go back toward the
gangster, or go forward into the broken frame. There
was death either way.
He had to fight as best he could!
If only he had a weapon . . . any kind. That bump on
his hip! He groped for it and realized that it was the
original Tractosaur control unit. He had completely
forgotten it. He pulled it out and hefted it. It wasn‟t
heavy enough to throw.
A wild thought struck him. If it worked!
Soapy Strade paused. He stuck the knife into a tie and
pulled the pistol from his pocket. “What‟s that?”
“Nothing,” Rick said hurriedly. “Nothing.” He
179
snapped the toggle switch with a finger, his mind racing.
What were the command words?
“Switch,” he said. “Switch!”
As though from far away he heard the muffled sound
of a motor roaring into life. “Go,” he said, and hope rose
in him like a tide. At the same moment he realized he
had used the wrong command. “To!” he called. “To!”
Strade was puzzled, and a little worried. “What‟re
you doing?” he demanded. “What is that thing?” He half
lifted the pistol, pointing it at Rick. “I don‟t want to
shoot. Don‟t make me!”
“Don‟t kill me,” Rick pleaded, and he emphasized the
word kill. That word would register on the machine‟s
electronic brain. The other words wouldn‟t.
Rick had done all he could. He snapped off the switch
and put the little unit back into his pocket. “I‟m not
doing anything,” he protested.
He backed up until he was at the very edge of the
break, then felt for a loose board. The nearest tie was
wobbly. He cast a quick look at Strade.
The gangster grinned. “Thanks, kid. I didn‟t want to
shoot.” The pistol disappeared and was replaced by the
knife. Strade began to move forward, more rapidly now
because he was at the top of the curve.
There was a faraway splintering sound. Rick‟s hopes
leaped high. The Tractosaur was coming! It was coming
right through the closed door and it would come through
the fence. He slipped the little unit from his pocket and
added one word he had forgotten. “Jump,” he said.
“Jump!”
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Soapy growled. “Put that thing away! What is it?”
Rick thrust the unit into his pocket and wrenched with
all his strength at the loose board. He nearly toppled off
the coaster. He fought to regain his balance and tried
again. The board came loose in his hands just as the
Tractosaur plowed through the fence with a mighty
crash, lights boring a pair of white beams through the
pale dawn.
The gangster turned and his eyes widened at the sight.
“What is it, kid?” His voice was shaky.
Rick didn‟t reply.
From below a voice yelled. “Soapy! Soapy!”
Lefty was below the roller coaster, looking up.
“Up here,” Soapy called. “Lefty! Find out what that
machine is and stop it!”
The Tractosaur crashed through a concession stand as
though it didn‟t exist. It was headed directly for the spot
underneath Rick.
Strade snarled, “I‟m through fooling, kid. Start
praying.” He closed the knife and drew the pistol from
his pocket, and as he got it halfway out of the cloth, Rick
jumped. He swung the board like a flail, directly at
Strade‟s hand. It connected solidly. The gangster
screamed. The gun slipped out of his nerveless hand and
fell to the ground.
Rick lifted the board for a blow at Strade‟s head and
the gangster grabbed his ankle, dumping him. He clawed
frantically at the track and his hands found a grip. He
lashed out with his free foot and caught the gang chief in
the chest. Strade grunted and let go.
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The board had fallen on the very edge of the track.
Rick grabbed for it desperately as he pulled away, barely
touched it, and saw it tilt and fall. His only weapon was
gone.
Strade‟s teeth were bared. He held his wounded hand
up, reaching for his knife with the other.
The Tractosaur roared across the park blindly, then
smashed into the fun house. The roller coaster rocked
with the blow. The uncanny machine backed off,
smashed again. It backed off once more, swung slightly
left, and came on again. This time it missed the corner of
the building and plowed head on into an upright. Rick
reached frantically for a handhold as the coaster swayed.
Down the Shore Road a siren wailed.
Rick had lost sight of Lefty. He emerged from behind
the fun house, pistol in hand. He fired at the Tractosaur.
He fired again. The Tractosaur circled. Rick didn‟t
realize it then, but when he had added the command
jump, he had forgotten to snap off the toggle switch on
the control unit. It was the most fortunate error he had
ever made. With the unit off, the Tractosaur would
simply have plowed ahead in a straight line, breaking or
avoiding everything in its path. With the unit on but no
commands forthcoming, the Tractosaur reached the spot
directly under the controlling radio beam and began
circling, confused by the lack of orders.
Lefty fired again as the Tractosaur spun. Its lights
picked out the thug momentarily, and Lefty ran,
apparently under the impression that the thing would
come after him!
182
The rapidly turning Tractosaur, motor roaring, picked
off another upright as though it had been a matchstick.
The coaster tilted, farther, farther, then stopped at an
angle of 60 degrees. Another upright gone would send
the whole thing toppling!
Strade was definitely shaken. He stared at Rick
fixedly, trying simultaneously to hold on and crawl
ahead. He didn‟t make very good progress.
“Throw your knife to the ground,” Rick said calmly.
“No!” Strade sounded strangely peevish.
“Throw it,” Rick said, “or I‟ll command the machine
to take out another upright.”
He lifted the control unit to his lips.
The gang leader looked at the ground far below.
“No,” he said again. “No!”
“One more upright and we‟re both cooked,” Rick
said. “Better both of us than just me. How about it?”
“Will you send it away?” Strade asked.
“Yes.” Rick had to be careful of his words for fear of
giving the machine a command.
Strade took the knife and tossed it away.
Rick looked down and saw that the machine was still
circling. He waited until it was pointed at the highway
gate, then said, “Go.”
The Tractosaur took off in a straight line. Rick
watched, saw that it would hit the fence a little to the
right of the gate, and said, “Left.” When the Tractosaur
had corrected enough, he added again, “Go.”
The way was open and the engine still was roaring at
high speed. The Tractosaur covered the ground in a few
183
seconds and battered into the gate. That portion of the
fence dissolved into kindling. Rick waited until the
machine was completely through the fence, then said,
“To. Get.”
The Tractosaur whirled and came back through the
opening, its blade plowing the rubble aside as it did so.
Rick grinned with sheer delight. It worked! It really
worked!
Something made him look at Strade. The gangster
was almost on him, hands out and teeth bared. “You‟re
going to get it,” he grated.
This was it. At least they were about matched in size
and weight. Rick spoke into his control unit. “Stop.”
The Tractosaur engine coughed and died. Rick threw
the control unit with all his strength straight into Soapy‟s
face. The lightweight transmitter glanced off the gang
chief‟s forehead. He shook his head and kept coming,
hands reaching.
There was no room for judo, or Rick could have
grabbed Strade‟s hands and fallen backward, flipping the
gangster over him. He did the next best thing. Holding
with one hand to the tilted track, he swung with the
other, keeping his fingers stiff and striking with the side
of his hand. He picked the gangster‟s injured hand, the
one he had hit with the board.
Strade saw the blow coming and pulled his hand
back, but not quite in time. Rick‟s judo blow caught him
across bleeding knuckles. He groaned with pain, but he
kept coming.
It was much lighter now. Rick could see his eyes as
184
faint, mad shadows. He realized that Soapy Strade
would keep coming, no matter what.
One or both of them would plummet to the ground
before this was over.
The siren reached a crescendo and the police car
swung through the break in the fence, but Rick didn‟t
see it. He didn‟t dare take his eyes from Strade.
Somehow, he had to keep the gangster from getting a
grip on him. He realized that the man would take both of
them to the ground and never regret it. Strade knew he
was done, anyway. He had known it from the moment
the siren sounded.
There was another sound, too. Rick had heard it for
several seconds without realizing its meaning.
The motorboat! Lefty was saving his own skin.
Strade was only a foot beyond reach. He covered the
distance with deliberation, and he was grinning. Rick
waited until he was within reach and launched another
judo blow, his fingers grouped together in a pointed
bunch, straight at Soapy Strade‟s eyes.
The gangster jerked his head to one side and the
fingers slid past. Rick recovered quickly, pulling his
hand around so that the edge connected with the
gangster‟s ear. But there had been no chance to put any
force into the blow. Strade ignored it and reached for
Rick‟s jacket.
Rick writhed to one side and brought his knee up, and
the motion unbalanced him. He felt himself slipping and
yelled. His hands scratched frantically, slipped past
handholds, and finally caught on the downside track. His
185
fingers tightened convulsively as his body went over and
dangled in mid-air.
Strade was pleased. He sat back for a moment and
looked into Rick‟s helpless, agonized face.
“Now,” Strade said, “I have a choice. Do I kick you
and get it over with in a hurry? Or do I pry your fingers
loose one at a time?”
He appeared to think it over. Finally he made a
decision. Balancing delicately on the tilted track, he got
to his feet. He placed one foot between Rick‟s hands,
bracing his shoe against the track. Then, knees bent,
crouching to keep his balance, he lifted the other foot
and poised it over Rick‟s head!
186
CHAPTER XIX
Strade Imitates a Bird
Rick closed his eyes. He was helpless. There was
nothing he could do but take it. He let his body go limp,
let his knees flex. He would fall relaxed. It was his only
chance.
Just the same, he wasn‟t giving up. He tightened his
grip on the rail. He wouldn‟t fall easily! He opened his
eyes and saw Strade‟s foot descending, saw the
gangster‟s cruel grin.
It was the grin that did it. Anger boiled up in Rick. He
might drop, but he would take Soapy Strade with him!
With a mighty pull he swung, shifting his entire
weight to his left hand, freeing his right. His right
reached high and grabbed the gangster‟s descending
foot. He pulled!
Strade screamed! The gangster jerked forward, flying
through the air over Rick‟s head.
The force of the pull almost broke Rick‟s grip. His
187
shoulder wrenched violently, and he felt something give.
But he held on desperately, teeth gritted together.
Strade writhed in mid-air like a cat and landed with
knees flexed. The force of the fall drove him forward on
his face. He sprawled for a moment, then tried to get to
his feet. With a groan he pitched forward again and tried
to crawl.
Then, suddenly, Scotty and a trooper were standing
over him. The police car had arrived unnoticed by the
two on the roller coaster.
“Hang on, Rick!” Scotty called. “I‟m coming!”
Rick‟s left arm had been strained almost to the point
where he had no strength left. He had managed to regain
a grip with his right hand, but with his left growing
numb he was actually hanging on with only his right
hand.
“You‟d better hurry!” he gasped.
Scotty surveyed the leaning structure, crossed under it
so that he would not be climbing against the overhang,
and went up an upright to the first crossbar. He sized up
the situation and planned what he would do. Then,
realizing that Rick couldn‟t hang on long, he went right
up to the track itself.
This was the bad part. Rick was hanging free between
two uprights, but too far away to reach either. Scotty did
a handwalk along the track, his own body hanging free,
until he was directly opposite Rick.
“How much strength have you?” he asked.
“Not much,” Rick said faintly. Both hands were
aching and his left was practically useless. “Better
188
hurry.”
“Can you keep your arms down if I get my feet under
your armpits?”
Rick knew he could do that much. “Yes.”
The track was about five feet wide. Scotty gauged the
distance. “I‟m going to swing my legs over and wrap
them around your chest. When I give the word, let go
and clamp your arms down over my legs.”
Rick realized the strain that would come suddenly on
Scotty‟s hands as he let go and jolted down. “Can you
do it?”
“Yes.”
Two troopers had been in the car with Scotty. One of
them had started climbing after Scotty almost instantly.
The other had put handcuffs on Soapy Strade and was
examining him for broken bones. He was finding a few.
The trooper who had climbed was holding to the
upright, waiting. “I‟m standing by,” he called.
“Okay,” Scotty said. “Here goes!”
He swung slightly to gain momentum, then made a
big swing that brought his legs up around Rick‟s waist.
He moved his legs until they were around Rick‟s chest,
but to do it he had to put the weight of his legs, one at a
time, on Rick.
It was almost too much. Rick was within an ace of
dropping when Scotty called, “Now!”
Rick let go and dropped. He brought his arms down
sharply and locked them to his sides over Scotty‟s legs,
and he held his breath. The drop set him to swinging like
a giant pendulum. Scotty groaned with the sheer effort
189
of hanging on. Somehow he flexed his knees to stop the
swing. In a moment both boys were motionless, only the
grip of Scotty‟s hands keeping them aloft.
Scotty began to move his hands, one at a time, an inch
at a time, toward where the trooper waited.
The trooper wrapped his legs around the upright and
leaned far out. “Keep coming,” he said. “Two feet more
and I can get him.”
Two feet was like a mile to Scotty with Rick‟s weight
added to his own. He moved slowly, carefully, covering
the distance.
The trooper called, “I‟ve got my arms around him
now.”
He had, too. Rick welcomed the firm grip. Scotty let
go and the trooper pulled Rick against the upright.
Rick was out of danger for the moment, but he was
still a long way from the ground. Scotty swung to the
track over the trooper‟s head and called down, “Any
strength left, Rick?”
“Some. Not much. I can get down the upright if
someone supports me. I‟ve only got one arm. The other
is numb.”
Scotty took his belt off, then tucked it into his pocket
and examined the track carefully. Satisfied, he turned so
that he was sitting with his back to the track‟s edge. He
hooked both feet under a tie and tried to swing
backward. It didn‟t work. He tried another plan. Lying
on his stomach across the track, he slid forward a little at
a time. As his stomach reached the edge of the track, he
hooked his heels under the ties, legs spread wide. He
190
inched forward a little, then swung down, hanging
headfirst with hands free.
Rick was within reach. Scotty inched forward a little
more and removed Rick‟s belt. Then he took his own
belt and buckled the two together.
“I‟m going to lash you to the upright,” he said.
“Trooper, can you support him from below? He won‟t
be able to fall away from the post if he‟s tied.”
The trooper replied, “I can do it. Hold him when you
have the belt in place. I‟ll get under him. Rick, put your
knees on my shoulders. Support yourself all you can. I‟ll
do the rest.”
“Got it,” Rick said.
Scotty looped the belt around his chest, under the
arms, then brought it around the upright and tied it
securely. It was too long to buckle. Then he took Rick‟s
wrists in his hands and called, “Got him. Go ahead
down.”
The trooper let go of Rick and lowered himself, then
moved around the upright to a spot directly under the
boy. He climbed until Rick could rest his knees on the
trooper‟s shoulders.
“Now,” the trooper said.
Rick had his arms around the upright. He supported
himself as best he could, slipping down as the trooper
moved. They reached the first crosspiece easily.
Scotty came down the upright and took up a position
on the crosspiece. The next stage was easier, since
Scotty could hold to Rick‟s upstretched hands part of the
way.
191
At the crosspiece nearest the ground, Scotty did the
same thing. Then the trooper‟s feet touched and he
lowered Rick to the solid earth.
Scotty came down and untied the belt and Rick took a
deep breath, feet spread wide to keep his balance. He
was a little wobbly.
He grinned at Scotty and the trooper. “Thanks, both
of you. Any time you need jobs as circus acrobats, I‟ll
write you a letter of recommendation.”
Scotty grinned back. “All right?”
“All but my arm. There‟s some life coming back into
it, but it‟s still numb.” He tried to move the arm and felt
something grate painfully.
“Might be dislocated,” Scotty advised. “Take it easy.”
“I will.” Rick put his hand into his shirt front to
support the arm. It felt better that way. Then he walked
over to where Soapy Strade lay outstretched on his back,
hands handcuffed on his chest.
The gangster glared up at him.
“I‟m probably selfish,” Rick stated, “but I‟m glad
you‟re the one who took the fall. And I‟m glad it didn‟t
kill you.”
“It‟s a miracle it didn‟t,” said the trooper who was
guarding Strade. “He has a couple of broken bones, but
that‟s all. Nothing very serious.”
The gangster bared his teeth in a painful grin. “Think
you‟ve got the last laugh, kid? Well, think different.
Ever hear of a private eye named Curtis? Pal of yours.”
“What about him?” Scotty asked quickly.
“What do you know about Mike?” Rick demanded.
192
He suddenly realized they had heard nothing from the
private detective.
“He found me,” Strade said. He grinned. “He was
looking for me and he found me. Only I saw him
coming. That‟s all I‟m going to tell you. Figure out the
rest for yourselves!”
193
CHAPTER XX
Find Mike Curtis!
Rick and Scotty stared at each other, speechless.
One of the troopers knelt at Strade‟s side. “Come on,
give! What about this Curtis?”
Strade grinned painfully. “That‟s all you‟ll get out of
me, Trooper. Don‟t waste your time.”
Rick knew the gangster meant it. He had nothing to
lose by keeping quiet. A sentence for attempted murder
added to the sentence he had been serving, plus extra
time for breaking out, meant more time waiting for him
in prison than one man‟s lifetime. Attempted murder
would be easy to prove, too.
“I‟ll bargain with you,” Rick said quickly. “Tell us
about Mike and I won‟t press charges for what you tried
to do to me.”
The gangster just chuckled.
A siren wailed down the road. The trooper who had
guarded Strade said, “That should be Captain Douglas.
194
Or maybe an ambulance. I told the barracks to send one
while you were on the roller coaster. Now we can find
out what happened to the troopers who were supposed to
be watching the amusement park.”
That was the first Rick had heard of any troopers.
Scotty told him about Captain Douglas‟ question, then
they compared notes on the yell from the parking area.
That yell didn‟t sound so good for the troopers, now that
they knew a patrol car had been hidden there.
In a moment Captain Douglas was listening to Rick‟s
story. He turned to the troopers who had brought him.
“Morton, you and Clark get over to the trees behind the
parking lot. See if there‟s a cruiser there. Find out what
happened to Patterson and Kosuski. I don‟t like what the
boys say about a yell. Make it snappy.”
“Now we have to find Mike,” Rick said urgently.
“Soapy won‟t tell us anything.”
“One thing first.” Captain Douglas looked grim. “I
want to know what happened to my troopers. And
where‟s Lefty?”
Rick had forgotten the phony caretaker. “Golly! I
forgot about him. He took off in the motorboat, Captain.
I don‟t know exactly how long ago, but it can‟t be more
than a few minutes.”
“You have a boat?” Douglas asked quickly.
“Yes, sir.”
Scotty spoke up. “Captain, we don‟t want to pick up
Lefty! Can‟t you see? He‟s the one who can lead us to
Mike Curtis. If we just keep an eye on him, he might
lead us right to Mike.”
195
Captain Douglas frowned thoughtfully. “It‟s a
possibility. Rut to keep an eye on him, we have to find
him. How do we do that without letting him know we‟re
on his trail? It‟s daylight, and a boat following him could
be seen easily.”
Before the boys could think of an answer, an
ambulance came through the broken fence. A white-clad
intern got out. “What‟s up? We got a call from the
barracks to report here.”
A trooper pointed to the gang leader‟s recumbent
form. “Meet Soapy Strade. He‟s a little banged up.
Seems he had a little war with Rick Brant and got
thrown from up there.” He pointed to the track overhead.
The intern whistled. “How come he‟s still alive?”
“Takes more than that to damage Soapy Strade,” the
trooper said. “He‟s a tough customer. Fix him up, Doc.
I‟ll stick with you until we get him to the hospital.”
The intern got to work. The ambulance driver brought
splints and a first-aid kit from the back of the
ambulance.
Scotty said regretfully, “We could locate Lefty easily
if we had your plane, Rick.”
Captain Douglas snapped his fingers. “That‟s it.” He
strode to the cruiser that had brought Scotty, leaned in,
and picked up the microphone. When he had contacted
the barracks, he said, “Rout Gus out of bed. You have
his number in the files.” He turned to Rick. “Can he land
here?”
“Yes, when it gets a little lighter. By the time he
could fly down here it would be all right.”
196
Captain Douglas spoke to the barracks again. “Tell
him I need him in a hurry. He can land between the
highway and the amusement park. Rick Brant has landed
here before. Tell him that. And call the nearest patrol car
and have it report to me.”
As he spoke, two patrol cars came through the gate.
In a moment they saw that one was Captain Douglas‟
cruiser. The other was apparently the one that had been
watching the amusement park.
Trooper Morton, Captain Douglas‟ driver, saw the
intern and called, “Doc! Forget Strade for a minute and
take a look at Patterson. He‟s in the back seat.”
The boys and the captain hurried over as Trooper
Clark, who had gone with Morton, helped the other
missing trooper from the second car.
The doctor quickly examined Patterson, then climbed
from the back seat. “Let‟s get him out of there. He‟s
okay, but weak from loss of blood. He‟s been slugged
and knifed.”
Willing hands lifted the trooper to the ground.
Kosuski limped up, helped by Trooper Clark. “Sorry,
sir. We got taken like a couple of amateurs.”
“What happened?” Captain Douglas asked quietly.
The trooper grimaced. “We were sitting in the car, Joe
had just come back after making a quick trip on foot
around the area. Suddenly we heard a hissing. It was air
coming out of a back tire. I said, „Hey! There goes a
tire.‟ I got out my side and Joe got out on his. He walked
right into a knife. He let out a yell, and then they slugged
him. I grabbed for my gun and started around to help
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him, then someone let me have it from behind. It didn‟t
knock me out, but it almost did. I turned and grappled
with the guy that hit me and we wrestled for a minute.
He had a knife, and I got it in the thigh. Not serious.
Then someone gave him a hand.”
“Both of them were trussed up and gagged,” Morton
reported. “It‟s lucky for Patterson that he got tied. They
cut the blanket from the first-aid kit into strips and used
that, and it was thick enough to stop Patterson‟s
bleeding.”
Kosuski added, “I figure they came in from behind
the car, took the valve cap off a rear tire, and then poked
in a matchstick or something to let a little air out.”
Captain Douglas nodded. “All right. I‟m glad you‟re
both alive. What I want to know is, how did Soapy and
Lefty know the park was being watched? They must
have known just where you were in order to sneak up on
you like that.”
“I don‟t know, sir,” the trooper said.
“We‟ll try to find out. Meanwhile, we have work to
do.” The captain started issuing orders. He dispatched a
car north and another south with instructions to watch
for Lefty and to exercise caution so the fleeing thug
wouldn‟t know he was being watched. One trooper went
in each car, leaving two troopers behind in addition to
the two wounded men.
Captain Douglas ordered one of them to go with
Scotty and to bring back the guard the boys had
captured. The radio in the remaining cruiser sounded,
calling the captain. He answered and was told that
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another car would arrive within five minutes.
“What‟s the plan, Captain?” Rick asked.
“I‟ll fly with Gus. When we spot Lefty, I‟ll drop a
note to the barracks and they can relay instructions.
We‟ll keep high enough and far inland enough so Lefty
won‟t know the plane is interested in him. We‟ll keep
the cars tracking him, and when he lands, there will be a
big enough reception committee to take care of him
without trouble.”
“How about Scotty and me?” Rick demanded.
“You‟re going home.”
Rick shook his head. “Not on your life! We have to
see this through to the end. Can‟t we ride in one of the
cars?”
Douglas smiled. “I don‟t suppose I can stop you. If I
try, you‟ll probably flag a stranger and talk him into
trailing my cruisers. All right. I‟ll tell Morton you can
ride with him.”
“Thanks a million!” Rick grinned widely. He didn‟t
want to be left out now.
Captain Douglas walked over to where the intern was
working on the two troopers and Soapy. Patterson was
neatly bandaged now. He smiled up at the captain.
“Sorry, skipper.”
“Forget it. That tire gag was pretty cute. I‟d have
fallen for it myself.”
Kosuski was getting a bandage on his thigh wound. “I
doubt that, Captain. But we sure fell for it.”
Strade lay on the ground and watched silently. Rick
looked down at his enemy. “Know what tripped you up,
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Strade? It was passing a red light. Isn‟t that a howl? You
run a racket for years and commit murder and
kidnapping and every other crime invented, and then you
go through a red light and end up back in jail.”
Soapy‟s eyes narrowed. “You mean when I bumped
that jalopy?”
“My sister was in it,” Rick told him. “You hurt her,
Strade. It wasn‟t your fault that you didn‟t kill her. If
you hadn‟t run that light, Captain Douglas wouldn‟t
have asked me to fly around and locate you. Of course
we didn‟t know who was in the hit-and-run car. But
since my sister had been hurt, I wasn‟t going to give up
until I found the man responsible.”
The gang leader muttered under his breath.
Captain Douglas asked, “Who thought up that rattrap
idea, Soapy? Lefty isn‟t smart enough, but you are. And
didn‟t you have a pilot‟s license once?”
Soapy sneered. “What rattrap? Never heard of it.”
“You watched us setting up the plane alarm,” Rick
told him. “That‟s why it wasn‟t hard for you to
disconnect it.”
He knew they could never prove that Soapy had
sabotaged the plane, but it wasn‟t necessary. The fight
on the roller coaster was proof enough of attempted
murder.
A call came in for Captain Douglas. The trooper who
had gone north reported that Lefty‟s boat was nearing
Seaford and heading out toward the ocean, probably
getting out of sight of land.
“Do you think he‟s trying to get out of the area by
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boat?” Rick asked. “I mean, will he try to reach Staten
Island or something like that?”
“Your guess is as good as mine,” Douglas retorted.
“What do you think?”
Rick had a theory. “Look, Captain. Soapy and
company never got by the road blocks, so far as we
know. It‟s doubtful that they did, because that would
mean they left and re-entered the area at least twice. I
have a hunch they found a hide-out close by, and I
wouldn‟t be surprised if it was one of the summer
colonies. No one would think anything of strangers
living in one of the cottages.”
“Makes sense,” the officer agreed.
Scotty and the trooper who had gone to the project
came through the gate leading the guard, who was
handcuffed to the trooper. At the same moment, Rick
heard the drone of Gus‟s plane. Before Scotty reached
the roller coaster, Gus was in sight. Things happened
rapidly. Another cruiser arrived. The guard was put into
it and dispatched to jail. Soapy and Patterson were
loaded into the ambulance on stretchers and Kosuski
climbed in as both patient and guard. The ambulance got
on its way.
Captain Douglas took off in Gus‟s plane, and the two
boys got into the back seat of the remaining cruiser.
As they left the amusement park, Scotty suddenly
remembered. “Hey! Our motorboat is still there.”
Rick grinned, trying to adjust his arm more
comfortably. “So is the Tractosaur. Wait until Dad and
the others find it in the middle of the amusement park!”
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The cruiser rolled northward. As it passed the Seaford
turnoff, the radio broke the silence. “Calling Car 28.”
The trooper in front acknowledged. “Go ahead.”
“Captain Douglas just dropped a message. Boat
spotted, going north, staying well out to sea. It is now
just south of Spindrift. All cars head for Whiteside and
await further instructions.”
Scotty smiled. “Lefty probably thinks he‟s safe as can
be. If he only knew!”
Rick pictured the coast line. If his guess about a
summer colony was correct, it must be one of those
north of Whiteside. He hoped that Lefty would lead
them to Mike, but more than that he hoped that Mike
was all right. Somehow, he wasn‟t afraid that any real
harm had come to the detective. Strade hadn‟t given that
impression.
There were only two summer colonies to which Lefty
might be going. Either of them was nearly a half hour
away from Lefty‟s present position.
“Let‟s stop at Whiteside for a few minutes,” Rick
suggested to Trooper Morton. “We can get to any point
on the coast ahead of Lefty. And I need some breakfast.
Besides, if the doctor is handy, I‟d like to have him take
a look at this arm.”
The trooper nodded. “We can do that. The radio will
keep us posted.” He stepped on the gas.
Within a short time they had eaten a quick breakfast
and the doctor, aroused from sleep, was examining
Rick‟s arm with grumpy impatience.
“Miracle you haven‟t broken your neck before this,”
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he muttered. “Confounded idiot! Walking around with a
dislocated shoulder as though it were nothing!”
Rick gritted his teeth as the doctor, aided by Scotty,
set the shoulder, then bandaged Rick‟s arm to his chest
with heavy linen strips.
“That‟s to keep you from trying to use the arm,” the
doctor stated. “If I didn‟t strap it down you‟d try to
climb a tree or something. Now sit down and let me take
a look at that leg.”
He rolled up Rick‟s trouser leg and exposed a
bloodstained bandage. Sometime during the fight on the
roller coaster, Rick had scraped the leg. He didn‟t
remember when or how. As the doctor rebandaged it, he
said sourly, “You‟d better study medicine this fall to
learn how to bandage yourself. Now go on out and tear
that leg open again.”
“I‟m sorry,” Rick said contritely. “I didn‟t do it on
purpose.”
“Humph,” the doctor said.
The cruiser had waited outside the door. As Rick and
Scotty got in, Morton said, “Lefty is opposite Whiteside.
He‟s moving in toward land.”
“We‟ll get a line on where he‟s heading pretty soon,”
Scotty commented. “If he‟s coming in to shore that
means he‟s not trying for any points north.”
Scotty‟s surmise was correct. As the prowl car moved
back to the Shore Road and headed north from
Whiteside, the radio suddenly called, “Captain Douglas
is landing at Whiteside airport. Car 31 pick him up.
Other cars proceed at once to the summer colony at
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Beaman‟s Point. Boat has passed the colony nearer
Whiteside. Proceed with caution. Park cars out of sight
and go in on foot. Captain Douglas will take command
personally.”
“Pretty soon,” Rick muttered. He was getting excited
now. From all around the area, police cars were closing
in. Lefty didn‟t know it, but he didn‟t have a chance. He
would walk right into a solid fence of police guns.
Their car was the first on the scene. The troopers
parked across the road from the summer colony, hiding
their car behind a large clump of willow. Scotty looked
at Rick. “You‟d better not get too near the shooting if
there‟s going to be any. You‟re not as spry as you were,
with that arm strapped and a leg bandaged.”
“Don‟t think I‟m going to miss it,” Rick said flatly.
“Come on.”
Lefty was in sight, south of the colony. People were
beginning to stir, and occasionally a car went by on the
road. It was still too early for any but the very early
birds, however.
One of the troopers knocked on the back door of a
cottage. He had seen the family inside, having breakfast.
A man came to the door. “What‟s up, Officer?”
The trooper explained briefly. “Get under cover and
stay there. We‟re waiting for a thug to arrive in a motor-
boat. May be some shooting.”
The man disappeared, consulted hastily with his
family, and then led them to an inner room.
Another squad car appeared and vanished behind a
screen of trees. Captain Douglas got out with two
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troopers, joined Rick and Scotty, and issued quick
orders. “Get behind houses, on the edges of the colony.
As other cars arrive I‟ll fill in the gaps. Rick, get under
cover. We don‟t want a soul in sight when Lefty arrives.
Scotty, you go down the road a little way to warn any
patrol cars to take cover before they reach the colony.”
Scotty hurried off. Rick and Captain Douglas put a
house between them and the oncoming boat. Rick
estimated that Lefty was still about ten minutes from
shore.
Another police car arrived and the captain dispersed
its troopers. A local prowl car came and four Whiteside
officers—practically the whole force—joined the
troopers. “That‟s plenty,” Captain Douglas said,
grinning. “I‟ve fought battles with less men than this.”
The police had found good cover. Rick looked around
and couldn‟t see even one. Scotty joined him and the
captain.
“He‟s practically here,” Scotty said.
The colony seemed to hold its breath as Lefty reached
the small dock and cut his motor.
The gangster took a hurried look around, saw no one,
and ran for a small cottage on the far side of the colony.
Rick watched, peering around a corner. The cottage, a
two-room affair, was painted green. A sign over the back
door announced Yule-Ike-It. Rick found time to wonder
why people strained so hard to give summer cottages
such elaborately cute names. He thought that Lefty
would probably change the name from you‟ll-like-it to
something quite different in the next few minutes.
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Lefty reached the door of the cottage and froze with
his hand on the knob as a trooper barked, “Get ‟em high.
Quick!”
The gangster‟s hands flew into the air. He turned, a
look of astonishment on his face.
Troopers and policemen seemed to spring from the
ground. In a moment Lefty was handcuffed, and a
trooper was handing his gun to Captain Douglas.
Rick was on the heels of the troopers who barged into
the cottage.
A man, who had been asleep on a couch, reached for
a gun. One of the troopers jumped forward and thrust a
police positive into his face. “Reach,” he invited. The
man did. He was the third man who had been with
Soapy and Lefty at the Whiteside pier.
In an inner room they found Mike Curtis. He was
awake. He was lying on his side, hands and feet roped
together behind him, a gag in his mouth.
A trooper knelt and removed the gag. Mike coughed,
then rubbed his tongue over his lips. He looked up at
Rick and grinned.
“What kept you?” Mike asked.
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CHAPTER XXI
Soapy Strade’s Secret
Rick leaned back in the comfortable chair Barby had
once occupied as an invalid and let his sister bring him a
cup of coffee and a freshly made doughnut.
“Think you‟ll live?” she asked brightly.
Now that the excitement was over, the reaction had
set in. Rick felt as though he had been hauled by force
through a very small coffee grinder. Every bone ached a
little, and his shoulder ached unmercifully. His leg
throbbed. His eyes had a hard time remaining open. He
wanted above all else to go to bed, but he couldn‟t. He
had company.
In a semicircle on the porch sat Mike Curtis, Captain
Douglas, Jerry Webster, Mrs. Brant, Briotti, Shannon,
and Scotty. The others were at work, at the project.
Barby served them all with coffee and doughnuts, then
took a footstool and sat next to Rick.
“I‟m going to turn in my badge,” Mike was saying.
207
“And hand my license to the nearest desk sergeant. I‟m a
fine detective, all right. I‟m like the lion hunter who got
into trouble because he succeeded in finding a lion and
wasn‟t ready for the next step.”
“I can see why you‟re a little red in the face,” Captain
Douglas said genially. “But don‟t blame yourself too
much.”
Mike smiled. “I don‟t. Not too much. How was I to
know that Jimmy the Dip would be there?”
Jimmy the Dip, a noted pickpocket, was the man they
had surprised asleep. He had known Mike.
“I took my case of brush samples and walked right
into the cottage,” Mike said. “I carried a brush in my
hand. I waved it. I said, „Gentlemen, here‟s just the thing
for washing your car, scrubbing out your fishing boat, or
washing windows. And no matter how hard you scrub,
you won‟t hurt this brush. No, sir. It‟s made of Gylon,
the new synthetic fabric.‟ I held it out to Strade, and I
said, „Feel those bristles?‟ He grinned and said, „Feel
that heater in your back?‟ And I did. Jimmy was behind
me with a rod shoved against my spine. He had seen me
coming, and tipped off the others. The rest is history.”
“You‟re lucky,” Scotty commented.
Mike laughed. “He‟s telling me! But why did Lefty
come back to the cottage after he got away from the
amusement park in the boat?”
Rick thought he had the answer. “I think Lefty didn‟t
know we had him nicely taped. He probably figured he
could get under cover and lay low, and then he and
Jimmy could slip out when the heat was off.”
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“I think Rick‟s right,” Captain Douglas agreed. “Lefty
felt safe once he reached the boat and got out to sea.
After all, no one had found the cottage except Mike,
and he had been taken care of. What‟s more, if anyone
had been working with Mike, he would have shown up.
Or something would have happened. Lefty wouldn‟t
figure on trouble once a night had passed.”
“He might have just gone to the cottage to warn
Jimmy,” Scotty speculated.
Captain Douglas shook his head. “I doubt it. Lefty
wouldn‟t care about Jimmy‟s skin. He‟d worry only
about his own.”
Barby sighed. “Such names! Soapy, Lefty the Gonif,
and Jimmy the Dip. What‟s a dip?”
“Pickpocket,” Mike told her.
“I see! He dips into pockets!”
“Exactly.” Captain Douglas added, “But the other
man‟s name will disappoint you. I mean the guard that
Back and Scotty captured. His name turns out to be
Willis Montgomery Jones.”
Rick remembered the tough face and broke into
laughter. “Call him Willis and get shot, I‟ll bet!”
Mrs. Brant spoke up. “There‟s one thing I don‟t
understand. Why were these men at the amusement
park?”
“That was Soapy‟s original hide-out,” Captain
Douglas explained. “I‟m sure of it. He and Lefty
probably reached it before we had time to set up the road
blocks. Rick and Scotty spoiled it as a hiding place. But
we had a complete road-block system thrown around the
209
area by then, so Soapy couldn‟t just move on. Instead—
I‟m speculating, of course—he phoned one of his gang.
Maybe this Willis Jones. He gave instructions. Willis
and Jimmy simply drove to Whiteside and rented a
cottage. There was no reason to suspect them. They had
a legally registered car and we had no way of knowing
they were connected with Soapy.
“We can assume they picked up Soapy and Lefty at
the amusement park and took them to the rented cottage.
After all, this is pretty late in the season and cottages are
plentiful. Furthermore, four men in a cottage in good
fishing country attracts no attention.”
“The cottage had a phone,” Mike added. “Probably
one left in by the owner and charged for with the rent.
We also found the car parked across the street. A
registration in Willis‟ name was in the glove
compartment.”
“But why did Soapy and Lefty go back to the
amusement park?” Barby persisted. “I agree with
Mother. There‟s one thing you haven‟t answered.”
“And why did they go by boat?” Jerry added.
Rick remembered something. “Listen, gang! I went
up the stairs in the fun house, because I thought Soapy
had come back to look for something. I didn‟t think he
would come upstairs, but he did! Whatever is hidden
must be upstairs in the fun house.”
“Wait!” Scotty jumped to his feet. “How do you
know he was just going to the second floor? Remember
the light on top of the roller coaster? He might have been
climbing to the top, anyway, and you just happened to
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get in the way!”
“Whatever the answer is, I know the reason they went
by boat,” Mike Curtis said. “Jimmy the Dip is a thief,
but no killer. He belonged to Strade‟s gang, but no one
ever called him a gunman. After the other three had left,
he told me. He said they were going to be picked up by a
boat which was waiting offshore. That was Soapy
Strade‟s real getaway. I think he went to the amusement
park originally expecting to be picked up in a few hours,
and maybe taken to Cuba or something. Maybe the boat
was delayed. I don‟t know.
“Anyway,” Mike went on, “Jimmy made a bargain
with me. He pointed out that I knew him, and if he
turned me loose, he‟d end up in the clink. That was true
enough. So, he said, he would have to get rid of me. I
didn‟t think much of that idea, and I told him so. Well,
he made me some compliments about being a square guy
who kept his promise, and said if I‟d swear not to turn
him in, he‟d release me as soon as Strade got a good
start. I did the only thing I could do, not wanting to
depart from this world at my tender age. I made a
bargain with him to keep quiet. As it happened, it wasn‟t
necessary.”
“That sort of knocks my theory in the head,” Scotty
complained. “Soapy must have been signaling for the
boat he was to catch.”
Rick didn‟t think so. “A boat could have picked him
up off the colony. No, he went to the amusement park
for something. I vote we call the project and ask the
people there to search the fun house.”
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“Good idea,” Captain Douglas agreed. “If I may use
your phone, I‟ll fix that right now.”
As the captain went into the library, Rick looked at
his watch. They must be testing the Tractosaur by this
time. He wished he could see the test. But, he consoled
himself, he knew the machine worked. It had certainly
obeyed his instructions!
Captain Douglas came back and sat down. “I got your
dad. He‟ll drop everything for a few minutes and
ransack the fun house. I told him he could wreck the
roller coaster if he needed to.”
“By the way,” Scotty said, “where‟s the Coast Guard?
Didn‟t you call them?”
“Yes. Then, as soon as Gus and I located Lefty‟s boat,
we dropped a message to the barracks and ordered them
to call off the Coast Guard. We didn‟t want a cutter or
anything else tipping Lefty off that we were after him.”
Captain Douglas accepted another cup of coffee from
Barby. “While we‟re waiting for a call, suppose I try to
sum up what happened?”
“Swell,” Rick agreed. “I‟m a little hazy on a few
things.”
“Okay. We‟ll start with Strade breaking out of jail. He
didn‟t do it alone, obviously. It was a well-organized
escape. He got out in a grocery truck, all trussed up in a
burlap bag. His gang was waiting for him in a fast car.
They got across the river, probably before we were able
to put men on all bridges and tunnels.”
“Then Jerry and I got hit,” Barby put in.
“Yes. At that time, Soapy and Lefty were on their
212
way to the amusement park. From the looks of the fun
house, I‟d say that Lefty had everything planned. There
were cots, and enough food for several days.”
“If they hadn‟t left a track in the grass, it would have
worked,” Scotty said.
“But it didn‟t.” Captain Douglas smiled grimly. “The
track put the Spindrift twins on their trail, and that was
the beginning of the end. The first time you got in the
park, Soapy and Lefty were taken in. They thought you
were only looking around, as you said. But when you
showed up at night, and they were sure from the
wreckage of the crosspiece that you had seen Strade, that
forced their hand. Probably they were already
suspicious, because one or both of them spied on you
while you were connecting the plane alarm.”
“If I get another plane, the alarm will be a foolproof
one,” Rick promised.
“It better be. Well, they disconnected the alarm,
rigged the rattrap, and fixed the board you had broken.
Then Lefty probably got to a phone, perhaps in Seaford,
and called one of the gang. We‟ll be able to check up on
this later. It may be that Jimmy the Dip and Willis Jones
had already rented the cottage and were living there, just
in case of trouble. I rather think that was the case. We
know that Soapy lays his plans carefully, and he
wouldn‟t have failed to make some alternate plan.
Anyway, we can assume that Jimmy and Willis picked
up Soapy and Lefty at the amusement park and hid them
out. Am I making sense to you all?”
“You‟re doing fine,” Mike Curtis assured him. “Let
213
me pick up. Meanwhile, my secretary got in touch with
me. I located the real-estate office which controlled the
amusement park, and got the dope that Soapy‟s brother-
in-law owned the place. I phoned Spindrift. Then after I
left, the girl in the office phoned Soapy‟s hide-out.
That‟s the only solution to what happened later, and that
makes me agree with Captain Douglas that Jimmy and
Willis were already in the cottage, since she had a
number to call. She must be tied right in with Strade‟s.”
“We‟ll ask the New York police to look into that,”
Douglas assured him. “Go on.”
“Well, Soapy and his pals didn‟t want their
connection with the amusement park known. We don‟t
know why. But the reason was strong enough so that
Soapy risked bringing his boys to the Whiteside pier to
get me—because I knew about his connection with the
park.”
“There were only three of them at the pier,” Scotty
recalled. “Willis Jones wasn‟t there.”
“He may have been,” Mike pointed out. “He might
have waited in the car, ready for a getaway. We drove
them off, and we pinked Jimmy in the arm. Just grazed
him. His arm was bandaged while I was with him at the
cottage. In fact, I changed the bandage once. Rick and
Scotty nailed the other two with rocks. Not hard enough
for real damage, but they left some marks to pay back
for Rick‟s black eyes.”
Rick grinned. His eyes were almost normal now, but
they still had faintly colored rings around them.
“After that, Rick and Scotty identified Soapy and
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Lefty, and I got the idea of going after the reward
money. Rick will get the reward now, I hope. He
certainly earned it—with blood!”
Rick hadn‟t thought of that!
“He‟ll get it,” Douglas agreed. “It will buy you two
new planes if you want them, Rick. No one will argue
that you, and you alone, got Soapy Strade. Even if
Scotty and my troopers hadn‟t arrived, Strade couldn‟t
have gotten away. He was too badly hurt.”
Mike Curtis continued, “I narrowed the search down
to that one summer colony after talking with the phone
operator. She had a record of the call, but there was no
exact address because the cottages don‟t have them. She
couldn‟t tell me which house, but she did tell me the
colony. I think that Jimmy saw me going from house to
house and recognized me. I met him while I was
working on a case in New York some time ago. So when
I knocked on their door, they were waiting for me.”
Captain Douglas picked up the thread of speculation.
“One of them must have reconnoitered the amusement
park. Mike, did any of them leave the cottage
yesterday?”
Mike snapped his fingers. “Yes! Jones took the car
out late yesterday afternoon. He was gone for about two
hours.”
“That must have been when my troopers were
spotted,” Douglas said. “I can‟t figure anything else.
Probably Jones went to see if the coast was clear and
spotted the patrol car among the trees behind the parking
lot. That‟s why Strade and Lefty were prepared.”
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“And that‟s why I got to the fun house before they
did,” Rick added. “They took their time sneaking up on
the troopers. They had to be dead sure of getting them
the first try. I wish you‟d told us you‟d placed a guard on
the park, Captain.”
“I should have,” Douglas admitted. “To be frank, I
didn‟t think about it.”
“It all adds up,” Tony Briotti said. He had been
listening with great interest. “But there are still a couple
of questions. Did Strade expect to have a boat pick him
up? If so, what delayed it? Why wasn‟t he picked up the
first night he arrived?”
That was an answer they didn‟t get until much later.
The boat scheduled to pick Soapy Strade up and take
him out of the country had indeed tried to sail on
schedule, but had been picked up by customs authorities
who had been watching it for some time. The customs
men had impounded the craft pending further
investigation into narcotics smuggling.
Strade‟s New York contacts had learned that their
boat was impounded and had been forced to make other
arrangements to get Soapy out of the country. While the
group on the Spindrift porch were talking, a Coast Guard
plane was at that very moment circling low over an
expensive yacht belonging to a well-known gambler.
The Coast Guard couldn‟t know, of course, that the
yacht had stood off the coast near the amusement park
all night, waiting for a boat that never came. Lefty had
tried to reach the yacht but had turned too far north.
Missing it, he had run in desperation for the cottage
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hide-out.
Briotti continued, “The other question, which you
have already stated, is what is the real answer to Soapy‟s
connection with the amusement park?”
At that moment the phone rang. Scotty ran to answer,
Captain Douglas with him.
They were gone a long time. The group on the porch
waited anxiously, not talking. Finally the two came
back, and they had very strange expressions on their
faces.
“That was Dad,” Scotty said. “They searched the fun
house and found nothing. So they turned the Tractosaur
loose and knocked down the roller coaster. It was a
public menace, leaning over that way, so they didn‟t
hesitate. Rick, remember that the very top of the coaster
was boarded solid instead of having open ties like the
rest?”
Rick nodded. “I remember.”
Scotty continued, “The boards came loose while the
machine was battering away, and it started raining
money!”
“Big money,” Captain Douglas interjected. “There
was a tar-paper lined space about an inch deep, three feet
wide, and four feet long. It was jammed with money.”
Scotty added in a hushed voice, “They‟re still
counting it. So far, they have more than four hundred
thousand dollars!”
There was a chorus of gasps. Rick saw in a flash the
reason for Soapy Strade‟s actions. The light on the
coaster had been Soapy, looking to see if his cache was
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still there. He had left it, knowing it would remain safe
until his getaway was fixed. Then he had returned to
collect it, to take it with him out of the country. No
wonder he had been willing to commit murder or
anything else to keep anyone from suspecting his real
association with the amusement park! The money must
have been there since before Soapy was sent to jail!
“Soapy only made one haul that big,” Mike Curtis
told them. “The pay-roll robbery that was never proved
against him. Rick, looks like you and Scotty can split
another reward. The insurance company that insured the
pay roll has a standing offer of twenty thousand for
information leading to recovery of the money, or arrest
and conviction of the men responsible.”
Rick sank back in his chair, openmouthed. Why, he
was rich!
“Incidentally,” Scotty said to Rick, “the men from
Washington thought the Tractosaur was terrific. Dad
said it worked even better than they had hoped.”
Howard Shannon turned to Rick. “Did I hear you
intend getting a bigger plane? This reward money will
make it possible.”
Rick nodded. “I‟ll get a four-seater flying station
wagon.”
“Good! This will solve a transportation problem . . . if
you and Scotty will go on an expedition with Tony and
me.”
“Will we!” Rick exclaimed. “Where?” He was
amused when he realized Shannon had remained silent
until he saw that the reward money would help him to
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solve a problem connected with his work. Not that the
scientist cared about the money. It was just that he was
completely absorbed in his work.
Tony Briotti smiled at the boys. “Howard has a good
idea. We‟re sailing in about two weeks, and we can take
you and your new plane with us. You can get one in that
time, I‟m sure. We‟re off to a place called Banaue,
pronounced Ban-ow-ee.”
Rick had no idea where that was. He said so.
“It‟s in the northern part of the island of Luzon, in the
Philippines,” Shannon told them. “It‟s the home of the
Ifugaos, primitive people who were head-hunters not so
long ago.”
Even as he spoke, an Ifugao woman, clad in a red
skirt decorated with yellow yarn balls, was stirring up a
fire over which a clay rice bowl bubbled. The woman
couldn‟t know that a few feet beyond, in a secret place
hidden for centuries, lay an object which would plunge
four Americans into terrible danger, a story to be told in
the next book of Rick‟s adventures:
THE GOLDEN SKULL